iP'i 


cS- 


!     Cs»'<?T 


THE  SHIP  OF  STARS 


NOVELS,    STORIES,     SKETCHES    AND 
ESSAYS 


[ARTHUR   T.   QUILLER-COUCH] 


The  Ship  of  Stars    . 

i2mo. 

$1.50 

The  Splendid  Spur 

.    i2mo, 

1-25 

The  Blue  Pavilions 

i2mo. 

1-25 

Wandering  Heath  . 

i2mo, 

1-25 

The  Delectable  Duchy 

i2mo, 

1-25 

Dead  Man's  Rock  . 

i2mo, 

I'25 

Noughts  and  Crosses 

i2mo, 

1-25 

Troy  Town 

l2ino, 

1-25 

I  Saw  Three  Ships  . 

.     i2mo, 

1-25 

Adventures  in  Criticism 

i2mo, 

125 

la.    A  Love  Story  [Ivor 

y  Se 

ries 

1    i6mo, 

.75 

TJ?e  melody  always  became  a  story. 


THE  SHIP  OF  STARS 


BY 


A.  T.   QUILLER-COUCH 

(Q) 


CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK   1899 


Copyright,  1899,  by 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTING  AND   BOOKBINDING   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK 


K   « 


4      t    t 
•    •     • 


1^4 


THE   RIGHT  HON. 
LEONARD   HENRY  COURTNEY,  M.P. 

My  Dear  Mr.  CouETisrEY, 

It  is  with  a  peculiar  pleasure  and,  I  dare  to 
hope,  with  some  appropriateness  that  I  dedicate 
to  you  this  story  of  the  West  Country  which 
claims  you  with  pride.  To  be  sure,  the  places 
here  written  of  will  be  found  in  no  map  of  your 
own  or  any  neighboring  constituency.  A  visitor 
may  discover  Nannizabuloe,  but  only  to  wonder 
what  has  become  of  the  lighthouse,  or  seek 
along  the  sand-hills  without  hitting  on  Tredin- 
nis.  Yet  much  of  the  tale  is  true  in  a  fashion, 
even  to  fact.  One  or  two  things  which  happen 
to  Sir  Harry  Vyell  did  actually  happen  to  a  bet- 
ter man,  who  lived  and  hunted  foxes  not  a  hun- 
dred miles  from  the  "  model  borough  "  of  Lis- 
keard,  and  are  told  of  him  in  my  friend  Mr.  W. 

iii 


DEDICATION 

F.  Collier's  memoir  of  Harry  Terrell,  a  bygone 
Dartmoor  hero — a  history  on  which  I  have  levied 
perhaps  too  boldly:  and  a  true  account  of  what 
followed  the  wreck  of  the  Samaritan  will  be 
found  in  a  chapter  of  Remembrances  by  that 
true  poet  and  large  Christian,  Robert  Stephen 
Hawkes. 

But  a  novel  ought  to  be  true  to  more  than  fact : 
and  if  this  one  come  near  its  aim,  no  one  will 
need  to  be  told  why  I  dedicate  it  to  you.  If  it 
do  not  (and  I  wish  the  chance  could  be  de- 
spised!), its  author  will  yet  hold  that  among  the 
names  of  living  Englishmen,  he  could  have  chos- 
en none  fitter  to  be  inscribed  above  a  story  which 
in  the  writing  has  insensibly  come  to  rest  upon 
two  texts,  "Lord,  make  men  as  towers!  "  and 
"  All  towers  carry  a  light."  Although  for  you 
Heaven  has  seen  fit  to  darken  the  light,  believe 
me  it  shines  outwards  over  the  waters  and  is  a 
help  to  men:  a  leading  light  tended  by  brave 
hands.  We  pray,  sir — we  who  sail  in  little  boats 
— for  long  life  to  the  tower  and  the  unfaltering 
lamp. 

A.  T.  Q.  C. 

St.  John's  Eve,  1899. 


IV 


CONTENTS 


I. 

The  Box  in  the  Gate-house  .        .        .        . 

PAGE 

1 

II. 

Music  in  the  Town  Square    . 

9 

III. 

Passengers  by  Jobt's  Van      . 

.       22 

IV. 

The  Running  Sands 

36 

V. 

Taffy  Rings  the  Church-bell       .        . 

45 

VI. 

A  Cock-fight    ....... 

54 

VII. 

George      

.      65 

VIII. 

The  Squire's  Soul 

75 

IX. 

Enter  the  King's  Postman     . 

84 

X. 

A  Happy  Day 

92 

XI. 

Lizzie    Redeems    her    Doll    and    Honorij 
Throws  a  Stone        

111 

XII. 

Taffy's  Childhood  Comes  to  an  End  . 

.     125 

XIII. 

The  Builders  ...... 

142 

XIV. 

Voices  from  the  Sea      .... 

.     156 

XV. 

Taffy's  Apprenticeship  .... 

170 

XVI. 

Lizzie  and  Honoria         .... 

.     183 

CONTENTS 

PA6B 

XVII. 

The  Squire's  Weird  . 

.     193 

XVIII. 

The  Barriers  Fall    . 

.     209 

XIX. 

Oxford         

.     220 

XX. 

Taffy  Gives  a  Promise     . 

.     233 

XXI. 

Honoria's  Letters     . 

.     241 

XXII. 

Men  as  Towers 

.     259 

XXIII. 

The  Service  of  the  Lamp 

.     275 

XXIV. 

Face  to  Face    .... 

.     288 

XXV. 

The  Wreck  op  the  Samaritan 

.     298 

XXVI. 

Salvage      ...                 .        . 

.     309 

XXVII. 

HONORIA 

.     327 

XXVIII. 

A  Odtrance        .... 

.     340 

XXIX. 

The  Ship  of  Stars    .        . 

.     351 

VI 


THE  SHIP  OF  STARS 


THE   SHIP   OF   STARS 


THE   BOY   IN   THE    GATE-HOUSE 

Until  his  ninth  year  the  boy  about  whom  this 
story  is  written  lived  in  a  house  which  looked 
upon  the  square  of  a  county  town.  The  house  had 
once  formed  part  of  a  large  religious  building, 
and  the  boy's  bedroom  had  a  high  groined  roof, 
and  on  the  capstone  an  angel  carved,  with  out- 
spread wings.  Every  night  the  boy  wound  up 
his  prayers  with  this  verse  which  his  grand- 
mother had  taught  him : 

Matthew,  Mark,  Luke,  and  John, 
Bless  the  bed  that  I  lie  on. 
Four  corners  to  my  bed. 
Four  angels  round  my  head  ; 
One  to  watch  and  one  to  pray, 
Two  to  bear  my  soul  away. 

Then  he  would  look  up  to  the  angel  and  say: 

"  Only  Luke  is  with  me."     His  head  was  full  of 

1 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

queer  texts  and  beliefs.  He  supposed  the  tkree 
other  angels  to  be  always  waiting  in  the  next 
room,  ready  to  bear  away  the  soul  of  his  grand- 
mother (who  was  bedridden),  and  that  he  had 
Luke  for  an  angel  because  he  was  called  The- 
ophilus,  after  the  friend  for  whom  St.  Luke 
had  written  his  Gospel  and  the  Acts  of  the 
Holy  Apostles.  His  name  in  full  was  The- 
ophilus  John  Raymond,  but  people  called  him 
Taffy. 

Of  his  parents'  circumstances  he  knew  very  lit- 
tle, except  that  they  were  poor,  and  that  his  father 
was  a  clergyman  attached  to  the  parish  church. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  Eeverend  Samuel  Ray- 
mond was  senior  curate  there,  with  a  stipend  of 
ninety-five  pounds  a  year.  Born  at  Tewkesbury, 
the  son  of  a  miller,  he  had  won  his  way  to  a  servi- 
torship  at  Christ  Church,  Oxford ;  and  somehow, 
in  the  course  of  one  Long  Vacation,  had  found 
money  for  travelling  expenses  to  join  a  reading 
party  under  the  Junior  Censor.  The  party  spent 
six  summer  weeks  at  a  farm-house  near  Honiton, 
in  Devon.  The  farm  belonged  to  an  invalid 
widow  named  Venning,  who  let  it  be  managed  by 
her  daughter  Humility  and  two  paid  laborers, 

while  she  herself  sat  by  the  window  in  her  kitchen 

2 


THE    BOY    m  THE    GATE-HOUSE 

parlor,  busied  incessantly  with  lace-work,  of  that 
beautiful  kind  for  which  Honiton  is  famous. 

He  was  an  unassuming  youth ;  and,  although  in 
those  days  servitors  were  no  longer  called  upon  to 
black  the  boots  of  richer  undergraduates,  the 
widow  and  her  daughter  soon  divined  that  he  was 
lowlier  than  the  others,  and  his  position  an  awk- 
ward one,  and  were  kind  to  him  in  small  ways, 
and  grew  to  like  him.  l^ext  year,  at  their  invita- 
tion, he  travelled  down  to  Honiton  alone,  with 
a  box  of  books;  and,  at  twenty-two,  having 
taken  his  degree,  he  paid  them  a  third  visit,  and 
asked  Humility  to  be  his  wife.  At  twenty-four, 
soon  after  his  admission  to  deacon's  orders,  they 
were  married.  The  widow  sold  the  small  farm, 
with  its  stock,  and  followed,  to  live  with  them  in 
the  friary  gate-house;  this  having  been  part  of 
Humility's  bargain  with  her  lover,  if  the  word 
can  be  used  of  a  pact  between  two  hearts  so 
fond. 

About  ten  years  had  gone  since  these  things 
happened,  and  their  child  Taffy  was  now  past  his 
eighth  birthday. 

It  seemed  to  him  that,  so  far  back  as  he  could 
remember,  his  mother  and  grandmother  had  been 
making  lace  continually.     At  night,  when  his 

3 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

mother  took  the  candle  away  with  her  and  left 
him  alone  in  the  dark,  he  was  not  afraid;  for,  by 
closing  his  eyes,  he  could  always  see  the  two 
women  quite  plainly;  and  always  he  saw  them  at 
work,  each  with  a  pillow  on  her  lap,  and  the  lace 
upon  it  growing,  growing,  until  the  pins  and  bob- 
bins wove  a  pattern  that  was  a  dream,  and  he 
slept.  He  could  not  tell  what  became  of  all  the 
lace,  though  he  had  a  collar  of  it,  which  he  wore 
to  church  on  Sundays,  and  his  mother  had  once 
shown  him  a  parcel  of  it,  wrapped  in  tissue-paper, 
and  told  him  it  was  his  christening  robe. 

His  father  was  always  reading,  except  on 
Sundays,  when  he  preached  sermons.  In  his 
thoughts,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  Taffy  associated 
his  father  with  a  great  j^ile  of  books;  but  the 
tenth  time  with  something  totally  different.  One 
summer — it  was  in  his  sixth  year — they  had  all 
gone  on  a  holiday  to  Tewkesbury,  his  father's  old 
home ;  and  he  recalled  quite  clearly  the  close  of  a 
warm  afternoon  which  he  and  his  mother  had 
spent  there  in  a  green  meadow  beyond  the  abbey 
church.  She  had  brought  out  a  basket  and  cush- 
ion, and  sat  sewing,  while  Taffy  played  about  and 
watched  the  haymakers  at  their  work.  Behind 
them,  within  the  great  church,  the  organ  was 

4 


THE    BOY    IN"    THE    GATE-HOUSE 

sounding;  but  by  and  by  it  stopped,  and  a  door 
opened  in  the  abbey  wall,  and  his  father  came 
across  the  meadow  toward  them,  with  his  surplice 
on  his  arm.  And  then  Humility  unpacked  the 
basket  and  produced  a  kettle,  a  spirit-lamp,  and  a 
host  of  things  good  to  eat.  The  boy  thought  the 
whole  adventure  splendid.  When  tea  was  done, 
he  sprang  up  with  one  of  those  absurd  notions 
which  come  into  children's  heads : 

"  ISTow  let's  feed  the  poultry,"  he  cried,  and 
flung  his  last  scrap  of  bun  three  feet  in  air  toward 
the  gilt  weather-cock  on  the  abbey  tower.  While 
they  laughed,  "  Father,  how  tall  is  the  tower?" 
he  demanded. 

"  A  hundred  and  thirty-two  feet,  my  boy, 
from  ground  to  battlements." 

"  What  are  battlements?" 

He  was  told. 

"  But  people  don't  fight  here,"  he  objected. 

Then  his  father  told  of  a  battle  fought  in  the 
very  meadow  in  which  they  were  sitting;  of 
soldiers  at  bay  with  their  backs  to  the  abbey  wall ; 
of  crowds  that  ran  screaming  into  the  church ;  of 
others  chased  down  Mill  Street  and  drowned;  of 
others  killed  by  the  Town  Cross ;  and  how — peo- 
ple said  in  the  upper  room  of  a  house  still  stand- 

5 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

ing  in  the  High  Street — a  boy  prince  had  been 
stabbed. 

Humility  laid  a  hand  on  his  arm. 

"  He'll  be  dreaming  of  all  this.  Tell  him  it 
was  a  long  time  ago,  and  that  these  things  don't 
happen  now." 

But  her  husband  was  looking  up  at  the  tower. 

"  See  it  now  with  the  light  upon  it!  "  he  went 
on.  "  And  it  has  seen  it  all.  Eight  hundred 
years  of  heaven's  storms  and  man's  madness,  and 
still  foursquare  and  as  beautiful  now  as  when  the 
old  masons  took  down  their  scaffolding.  When 
I  was  a  boy " 

He  broke  off  suddenly.  "  Lord,  make  men  as 
towers,"  he  added,  quietly,  after  awhile,  and  no- 
body spoke  for  many  minutes. 

To  Taffy  this  had  seemed  a  very  queer  saying; 

about  as  queer  as  that  other  one  about  "  men  as 

trees  walking."     Somehow — he  could  not  say 

why — he  had  never  asked  any  questions  about  it. 

But  many  times  he  had  perched  himself  on  a  flat 

tombstone  under  the  church  tower  at  home,  and 

tilted  his  head  back  and  stared  up  at  the  courses 

and  pinnacles,  wondering  what  his  father  could 

have  meant,  and  how  a  man  could  possibly  be  like 

a  tower.     It  ended  in  this — that  whenever  he 

6 


THE    BOY    IN  THE    GATE-HOUSE 

dreamed  about  his  father,  these  two  towers,  or  a 
tower  which  was  more  or  less  a  combination 
of  both,  would  get  mixed  up  with  the  dream  as 
well. 

The  gate-house  contained  a  sitting-room  and 
three  bedrooms  (one  hardly  bigger  than  a  box- 
cupboard)  ;  but  a  building  adjoined  it  which  had 
been  the  old  Franciscans'  refectory,  though  now 
it  was  divided  by  common  planking  into  two 
floors,  the  lower  serving  for  a  feoffee  office,  while 
the  upper  was  supposed  to  be  a  muniment-room, 
in  charge  of  the  feoffees'  clerk.  The  clerk  used 
it  for  drying  his  garden-seeds  and  onions,  and 
spread  his  hoarding  apples  to  ripen  on  the  floor. 
So  when  Taffy  grew  to  need  a  room  of  his  own, 
and  his  father's  books  began  to  cumber  the  very 
stairs  of  the  gate-house,  the  money  which  Humil- 
ity and  her  mother  made  by  their  lace-work,  and 
which  arrived  always  by  post,  came  very  handy 
for  the  rent  which  the  clerk  asked  for  his  upper 
chamber. 

Carpenters  appeared  and  partitioned  it  off  into 
two  rooms,  communicating  with  the  gate-house 
by  a  narrow  door-way  pierced  in  the  wall.     All 

this,  whilst  it  was  doing,  interested  Taffy  might- 

7 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

ily;  and  he  announced  his  intention  of  being  a 
carpenter  one  of  these  days. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Humility,  "  you  will  look 
higher,  and  be  a  preacher  of  God's  Word,  like 
your  father." 

His  father  frowned  at  this  and  said :  "  Jesus 
Christ  was  both." 

Taffy  compromised:  "  Perhaps  I'll  make  pul- 
pits." 

This  was  how  he  came  to  have  a  bedroom  with 
a  vaulted  roof  and  a  window  that  reached  down 
below  the  floor. 


8 


II 

MUSIC    IN    THE    TOWN    SQUARE 

This  window  looked  upon  the  town  square,  and 
across  it  to  the  mayoralty.  The  square  had  once 
been  the  Franciscans'  burial-ground,  and  was 
really  no  square  at  all,  but  a  semicircle.  The 
townspeople  called  it  Mount  Folly.  The  chord 
of  the  arc  was  formed  by  a  large  Assize  Hall,  with 
a  broad  flight  of  granite  steps,  and  a  cannon 
planted  on  either  side  of  the  steps.  The  children 
used  to  climb  about  these  cannons,  and  Taffy  had 
picked  out  his  first  letters  from  the  words  Sevasto- 
pol and  Russian  Trophy,  painted  in  white  on  their 
lead-colored  carriages. 

Below  the  Assize  Hall  an  open  gravelled  space 

sloped  gently  down  to  a  line  of  iron  railings  and 

another  flight  of  granite  steps  leading  into  the 

main  street.    The  street  curved  uphill  around  the 

base  of  this  open  ground,  and  came  level  with  it 

just  in  front  of  the  mayoralty,  a  tall  stuccoed 

building  where  the  public  balls  were  given,  and 

9 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

the  judges  had  their  lodgings  in  assize  time,  and 
the  colonel  his  quarters  during  the  militia  train- 
ing. 

Fine  shows  passed  under  Taffy's  window. 
Twice  a  year  came  the  judges,  with  the  sheriff  in 
uniform  and  his  chaplain,  and  his  coach,  and  his 
coachman  and  lackeys  in  powder  and  plush  and 
silk  stockings,  white  or  flesh-colored;  and  the  bar- 
risters with  their  wigs,  and  the  javelin  men  and 
silver  trumpets.  Every  spring,  too,  the  Royal 
Rangers  Militia  came  up  for  training.  Sudden- 
ly, one  morning,  in  the  height  of  the  bird-nesting 
season,  the  street  would  swarm  with  countrymen 
tramping  up  to  the  barracks  on  the  hill,  and  back 
with  bundles  of  clothes  and  vmblackened  boots 
dangling.  For  the  next  six  weeks  the  town 
would  be  full  of  bugle-calls,  and  brazen  music, 
and  companies  marching  and  parading  in  suits 
of  invisible  green,  and  clanking  officers  in  black, 
with  little  round  forage  caps,  and  silver  badges 
on  their  side-belts;  and,  toward  evening,  with 
men  lounging  and  smoking,  or  washing  them- 
selves in  public  before  the  doors  of  their  billets. 

Usually,  too,  Whitsun  Fair  fell  at  the  height 

of  the  militia  training;   and  then,  for  two  days, 

booths  and  caravans,  sweet-standings  and  shoot- 

10 


MUSIC    IN    THE    TOWN    SQUARE 

ing-galleries  lined  the  main  street,  and  Taffy 
went  out  with  a  shilling  in  his  pocket  to  enjoy 
himself.  But  the  bigger  shows — the  menagerie, 
the  marionettes,  and  the  travelling  theatre  royal 
— were  pitched  on  Mount  Folly,  just  under  his 
window.  Sometimes  the  theatre  would  stay  for 
a  week  or  two  after  the  fair  was  over,  until  even 
the  boy  grew  tired  of  the  naphtha-lamps  and  the 
voices  of  the  tragedians,  and  the  cornet  wheezing 
under  canvas,  and  began  to  long  for  the  time 
when  they  would  leave  the  square  open  for  the 
boys  to  come  and  play  at  prisoner's  base  in  the 
dusk. 

One  evening,  a  fortnight  before  Whitsun  Fair, 
he  had  taken  his  book  to  the  open  window,  and 
sat  there  with  it.  Every  night  he  had  to  learn 
a  text  which  he  repeated  next  morning  to  his 
mother.  Already,  across  the  square,  the  mayor- 
alty house  was  brightly  lit,  and  the  bandsmen  had 
begun  to  arrange  their  stands  and  music  before  it ; 
for  the  colonel  was  receiving  company.  Every 
now  and  then  a  carriage  arrived,  and  set  down  its 
guests. 

After  awhile  Taffy  looked  up  and  saw  two  per- 
sons crossing  the  square — an  old  man  and  a  little 
girl.  He  recognized  them,  having  seen  them  to- 
ll 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

gether  in  church  the  day  before,  when  his  father 
had  preached  the  sermon.  The  old  man  wore  a 
rusty  silk  hat,  cocked  a  little  to  one  side,  a  high 
stock  collar,  black  cutaway  coat,  breeches  and 
gaiters  of  gray  cord.  He  stooped  as  he  walked, 
with  his  hands  behind  him  and  his  walking-stick 
dangling  like  a  tail — a  very  positive  old  fellow, 
to  look  at.  The  girl's  face  Taffy  could  not  see; 
it  was  hidden  by  the  brim  of  her  Leghorn  hat. 

The  pair  passed  close  under  the  window.  Taffy 
heard  a  knock  at  the  door  below,  and  ran  to  the 
liead  of  the  stairs.  Down  in  the  passage  his 
mother  was  talking  to  the  old  man,  who  turned  to 
the  girl  and  told  her  to  wait  outside. 

"  But  let  her  come  in  and  sit  down,"  urged 
Humility. 

"  No,  ma'am;  I  know  my  mind.  I  want  one 
hour  with  your  husband." 

Taffy  heard  the  door  shut,  and  went  back  to 
his  window-scat. 

The  little  girl  had  climbed  the  cannon  oppo- 
site, and  sat  there  dangling  her  feet  and  eying  the 
house. 

"  Boy,"  said  she,  "  what  a  funny  window-seat 

you've  got!     I  can  see  your  legs  under  it." 

"  Tliat's  because  the  window  reaches  down  to 

12 


MUSIC    IN    THE    TOWN    SQUARE 

the  floor,  and  the  bench  is  fixed  across  by  the  tran- 
som here." 

"  What's  your  name?" 

"  Theophilus;  but  they  call  me  Taffy." 

"Why?" 

"  Father  says  it's  an  imperfect  example  of 
Grimm's  Law." 

"  Oh !  Then,  I  suppose  you're  quite  the  gen- 
tleman?   My  name's  Honoria." 

"  Is  that  your  father  downstairs?" 

"  Bless  the  boy!  What  age  d'  you  take  me 
for?  He's  my  grandfather.  He's  asking  your 
father  about  his  soul.  He  wants  to  be  saved,  and 
says  if  he's  not  saved  before  next  Lady-day,  he'll 
know  the  reason  why.  What  are  you  doing  up 
there?" 

"  Eeading." 

"  Reading  what?" 

"  The  Bible." 

"  But,  I  say,  can  you  really?'* 

"  You  listen."  Taffy  rested  the  big  Bible  on 
the  window-frame;  it  just  had  room  to  lie  open, 
between  the  two  mullions — "  Noiu  ivhen  they  had 
gone  throughout  Phrygia  and  Galatia,  and  were 
forbidden  of  the  Holy  Ghost  to  preach  the  word  in 
Asia,  after  they  ivere  come  to  Ilysia  they  assayed 

13 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

to  go  into  Bithynia  ;  but  the  Spirit  suffered  them 
not.  And  they,  passing  by  3Iysia,  came  doion  to 
Troas.  And  a  vision  appeared  to  Paul  in  the 
night.     ..." 

"  I  don't  wonder  at  it.  Did  you  ever  have  tlie 
whooping-cough  ?" 

"  Not  yet." 

"  I've  had  it  all  the  winter.  That's  why  I'm 
not  allowed  to  play  with  you.     Listen!" 

She  coughed  twice,  and  wound  up  with  a  ter- 
rific whoop. 

"  Now,  if  you'd  only  put  on  your  nightshirt 
and  preach,  I'd  be  the  congregation  and  interrupt 
you  with  coughing." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Taffy,  "  let's  do  it." 

"  No;  you  didn't  suggest  it.  I  hate  boys  who 
have  to  be  told." 

Taffy  was  huffed  and  pretended  to  return  to  his 
book.    By  and  by  she  called  up  to  him: 

"  Tell  me  what's  written  on  this  gun  of 
yours?" 

"  Sevastopol — that's  a  Eussian  town.  The 
English  took  it  by  storm." 

"  What!  the  soldiers  over  there?'* 

"  No,  they're  only  bandsmen ;  and  they're  too 
young.     But  I  expect   the   Colonel   was   there. 

14 


MUSIC    IN    THE    TOWN    SQUARE 

He's  upstairs  in  the  mayoralty,  dining.  He's 
quite  an  old  man,  but  I've  heard  father  say  he 
was  as  brave  as  a  lion  when  the  fighting  hap- 
pened." 

The  girl  climbed  off  the  gun. 

"  I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  him,"  she  said ; 
and  turning  her  back  on  Taffy,  she  sauntered  off 
across  the  square,  just  as  the  band  struck  up  the 
first  note  of  the  overture  from  "  Semiramide." 
A  waltz  of  Strauss  followed,  and  then  came  a  cor- 
net solo  by  the  bandmaster,  and  a  melody  of  old 
English  tunes — to  all  of  these  Taffy  listened.  It 
had  fallen  too  dark  to  read,  and  the  boy  was  al- 
ways sensitive  to  music.  Often  when  he  played 
alone,  broken  phrases  and  scraps  of  remembered 
tunes  came  into  his  head  and  repeated  themselves 
over  and  over.  Then  he  would  drop  his  game 
and  wander  about  restlessly,  trying  to  fix  and 
complete  the  melody;  and  somehow  in  the  proc- 
ess the  melody  always  became  a  story,  or  so  like 
a  story  that  he  never  knew  the  difference.  Some- 
times his  uneasiness  lasted  for  days  together.  But 
when  the  story  came  complete  at  last — and  this 
always  sprang  on  him  quite  suddenly — he  wanted 
to  caper  and  fling  his  arms  about  and  sing  aloud ;, 

and  did  so,  if  nobody  happened  to  be  looking. 

15 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

The  bandmaster,  too,  liad  music,  and  a  reputa- 
tion for  imparting  it.  Famous  regimental  bands 
contained  pupils  of  his;  and  his  old  pupils,  when 
they  met,  usually  told  each  other  stories  of  his 
atrocious  temper.  But  he  kept  his  temper  to- 
night, for  his  youngsters  were  playing  well,  and 
the  small  crowd  standing  quiet. 

The  English  melodies  had  scarcely  closed  with 
"  Come,  lassies  and  lads,"  when  across  in  the 
mayoralty  a  blind  was  drawn,  and  a  window 
thrown  open,  and  Taffy  saw  the  warm  room  with- 
in, and  the  officers  and  ladies  standing  with 
glasses  in  their  hands.  The  Colonel  was  giving 
the  one  toast  of  the  evening: 

"  Ladies  and  Gentlemen — The  Queen!" 

The  adjutant  leaned  out  and  lifted  his  hand 
for  signal,  and  the  band  crashed  out  with  the  Na- 
tional Anthem.  Then  there  was  silence  for  a 
minute.  The  window  remained  open.  Taffy 
still  caught  glimpses  of  jewels  and  uniforms,  and 
white  necks  bending,  and  men  leaning  back  in 
their  chairs,  with  their  mess-jackets  open,  and  the 
candle-light  flashing  on  their  shirt-fronts.  Be- 
low, in  the  dark  street,  the  bandmaster  trimmed 
the  lamp  by  his  music-stand.  In  the  rays  of  it 
he  drew  out  a  handkerchief  and  polished  the  keys 

16 


MUSIC    IN"    THE    TOWN    SQUARE 

of  his  cornet;  then  passed  the  cornet  over  to  his 
left  hand,  took  up  his  baton,  and  nodded. 

What  music  was  that,  stealing,  rippling  across 
the  square?  The  bandmaster  knew  nothing  of 
the  tale  of  Tannhauser,  but  was  wishing  that  he 
had  violins  at  his  beck,  instead  of  stupid  flutes 
and  reeds.  And  Taffy  had  never  heard  so  much 
as  the  name  of  Tannhauser.  Of  the  meaning  of 
the  music  he  knew  nothing — nothing  beyond  its 
wonder  and  terror.  But  afterward  he  made  a 
tale  of  it  to  himself. 

In  the  tale  it  seemed  that  a  vine  shot  up  and 
climbed  on  the  shadows  of  the  warm  night;  and 
the  shadows  climbed  with  it  and  made  a  trellis 
for  it  right  across  the  sky.  The  vine  thrust 
through  the  trellis  faster  and  faster,  dividing, 
throwing  out  little  curls  and  tendrils ;  then  leaves 
and  millions  of  leaves,  each  leaf  unfolding  about 
a  drop  of  dew,  which  trickled  and  fell,  and  tin- 
kled like  a  bird's  song. 

The  beauty  and  scent  of  the  vine  distressed 
him.  He  wanted  to  cry  out,  for  it  was  hiding  the 
sky.  Then  he  heard  the  tramp  of  feet  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  knew  that  they  threatened  the  vine, 
and  with  that  he  wanted  to  save  it.  But  the  feet 
came  nearer  and  nearer,  tramping  terribly. 
2  17 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

He  could  not  bear  it.  He  ran  to  the  stairs,  stole 
down  them,  opened  the  front  door  cautiously,  and 
slipped  outside.  He  was  half-way  across  the 
square  before  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  band 
had  ceased  to  play.  Then  he  wondered  why  he 
had  come,  but  he  did  not  go  back.  He  found 
Honoria  standing  a  little  apart  from  the  crowd, 
with  her  hands  clasped  behind  her,  gazing  up  at 
the  window  of  the  banqueting-room. 

She  did  not  see  him  at  once. 

"  Stand  on  the  steps,  here,"  he  whispered, 
"  then  you  can  see  him.  That's  the  Colonel — 
the  man  at  the  end  of  the  table,  with  the  big,  gray 
mustache." 

He  touched  her  arm.  She  sprang  away  and 
stamped  her  foot. 

"Keep  off  with  you!  Who  told  jou—Ohl 
you  bad  boy!" 

"  Nobody.  I  thought  you  hated  boys  who 
wait  to  be  told." 

"  And  now  you'll  get  the  whooping-cough,  and 
goodness  knows  what  will  happen  to  you,  and 
you  needn't  think  I'll  be  sorry!" 

"  Who  wants  you  to  be  sorry?  As  for  you,'^ 
Taffy  went  on,  sturdily,  "  I  think  your  grand- 
father might  have  more  sense  than  to  keep  yau 

18 


MUSIC    IN    THE    TOWN    SQUARE 

waiting  out  here  in  the  cold,  and  giving  jour 
cough  to  the  whole  town!" 

**  Ha!  you  do,  do  you?"  • 

It  was  not  the  girl  who  said  this.  Taffy 
swung  round  and  saw  an  old  man  staring  down 
on  him.  There  was  just  light  enough  to  reveal 
that  he  had  very  formidable  gray  eyes.  But 
Taffy's  blood  was  up. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  said,  and  wondered  at  himself. 

"  Ha !  Does  your  father  whip  you  some- 
times?" 

"No,  sir." 

"  I  should,  if  you  were  my  boy.  I  believe  in 
it.     Come,  Honoria!" 

The  child  threw  a  glance  at  Taffy  as  she  was 
led  away.  He  could  not  be  sure  whether  she 
took  his  side  or  her  grandfather's. 

That  night  he  had  a  very  queer  dream. 

His  grandmother  had  lost  her  lace-pillow,  and 
after  searching  for  some  time,  he  found  it  lying 
out  in  the  square.  But  the  pins  and  bobbins  were 
darting  to  and  fro  on  their  own  account,  at  an  in- 
credible rate,  and  the  lace  as  they  made  it  turned 
into  a  singing  beanstalk,  and  rose  and  threw  out 
branches  all  over  the  sky.  Very  soon  he  found 
himself  climbing  among  these  branches,  up  and 

19 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

up,  until  he  came  to  a  Palace,  which  was  really 
the  Assize  Hall,  with  a  flight  of  steps  before  it, 
and  a  cannon  on  either  side  of  the  steps.  "Within 
sat  a  giant,  asleep,  with  his  head  on  the  table  and 
bis  face  hidden;  but  his  neck  bulged  at  the  back 
just  like  the  bandmaster's  during  a  cornet  solo. 
A  harp  stood  on  the  table.  Taffy  caught  this  up, 
and  was  stealing  downstairs  with  it,  but  at  the 
third  stair  the  harp — which  had  Honoria's  head 
and  face — began  to  cough,  and  wound  up  with  a 
whoop!  This  woke  the  giant — he  turned  out  to 
be  Honoria's  grandfather — who  came  roaring 
after  him.  Glancing  down  below  as  he  ran, 
Taffy  saw  his  mother  and  the  bandmaster  far  be- 
low with  axes,  hacking  at  the  foot  of  the  bean- 
stalk. He  tried  to  call  out  and  prevent  them,  but 
they  kept  smiting.  And  the  worst  of  it  was,  that 
down  below,  too,  his  father  was  climbing  into  a 
pulpit,  quite  as  if  nothing  was  happening.  The 
pulpit  grew  and  became  a  tower,  and  his  father 
kept  calling,  "  Be  a  tower!  Be  a  tower,  like 
me!" 

But  Taffy  couldn't  for  the  life  of  him  see  how 
to  manage  it.  The  beanstalk  began  to  totter;  he 
felt  himself  falling,  and  leapt  for  the  tower.  .  .  . 

And  awoke  in  his  bed  shuddering,  and,  for  the 

20 


MUSIC    IN    THE    TOWN    SQUAKE 

first  time  in  his  life,  afraid  of  the  dark.  He 
would  have  called  for  his  mother,  but  just  then 
down  by  the  turret  clock  in  Fore  Street  the 
buglers  began  to  sound  the  "  Last  Post,"  and  he 
hugged  himself  and  felt  that  the  world  he  knew 
was  still  about  him,  companionable  and  kind. 

Twice  the  buglers  repeated  their  call,  in  more 
distant  streets,  each  time  more  faintly;  and  the 
last  flying  notes  carried  him  into  sleep  again. 


21 


Ill 

PASSENGERS  BY  JOBy's  VAN 

At  breakfast  next  morning  he  saw  by  his  par- 
ents' faces  that  something  unusual  had  happened. 
Nothing  was  said  to  him  about  it,  whatever  it 
might  be.  But  once  or  twice  after  this,  coming 
into  the  parlor  suddenly,  he  found  his  father  and 
mother  talking  low  and  earnestly  together;  and 
now  and  then  they  would  go  up  to  his  grand- 
mother's room  and  talk. 

In  some  way  he  divined  that  there  was  a  ques- 
tion of  leaving  home.  But  the  summer  passed 
and  these  private  talks  became  fewer.  Toward 
August,  however,  they  began  again;  and  by  and 
by  his  mother  told  him.  They  were  going  to  a 
parish  on  the  North  Coast,  right  away  across  the 
Duchy,  where  his  father  had  been  presented  to  a 
living.  The  place  had  an  odd  name — Nanniz- 
abuloe. 

"  And  it  is  lonely,"  said  Humility,  "  the  most 
of  it  sea-sand,  so  far  as  I  can  hear." 

22 


PASSENGERS    BY    JOBY'S    VAN 

It  was  by  the  sea,  then.     How  would  they  get 
there  ? 

"  Oh,  Joby's  van  will  take  us  most  of  the 
way." 

Of  all  the  vans  which  came  and  went  in  the 
Fore  Street,  none  could  compare  for  romance 
with  Joby's.  People  called  it  the  Wreck  Ashore; 
but  its  real  name,  "  Vital  Spark,  J.  Job,  Propri- 
etor," was  painted  on  its  orange-colored  sides  in 
letters  of  vivid  blue,  a  blue  not  often  seen  except 
on  ships'  boats.  It  disappeared  every  Tuesday 
and  Saturday  over  the  hill  and  into  a  mysterious 
country,  from  which  it  emerged  on  Mondays  and 
Fridays  with  a  fine  flavor  of  the  sea  renewed 
upon  it  and  upon  Joby.  No  other  driver  wore 
a  blue  guernsey,  or  rings  in  his  ears,  as  Joby  did. 
No  other  van  had  the  same  mode  of  progressing 
down  the  street  in  a  series  of  short  tacks,  or 
brought  such  a  crust  of  brine  on  its  panes,  or  such 
a  mixture  of  mud  and  fine  sand  on  its  wheels,  or 
mingled  scraps  of  dry  sea-weed  with  the  straw  on 
its  floor. 

"  Will  there  be  ships?"  Taffy  asked. 

"  I  daresay  we  shall  see  a  few,  out  in  the  dis- 
tance.    It's  a  poor,  outlandish  place.     It  hasn't 

even  a  proper  church." 

23 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  If  there's  no  church,  father  can  get  into  a 
boat  and  preach;  just  like  the  Sea  of  Galilee,  you 
know." 

"  Your  father  is  too  good  a  man  to  mimic  the 
Scriptures  in  any  such  way.  There  is  a  church, 
I  believe,  though  it's  a  tumble-down  one.  No- 
body has  preached  in  it  for  years.  But  Squire 
Moyle  may  do  something  now.  He's  a  rich 
man." 

"  Is  that  the  old  gentleman  who  came  to  ask 
father  about  his  soul?" 

"  Yes;  he  says  no  preaching  ever  did  him  so 
much  good  as  your  father's.  That's  why  he 
came  and  offered  the  living." 

"  But  he  can't  go  to  heaven  if  he's  rich?" 

"  I  don't  know,  Taffy,  wherever  you  pick  up 
such  wicked  thoughts." 

"  AVliy,  it's  in  the  Bible." 

Humility  would  not  argue  about  it;  but  she 
told  her  husband  that  night  what  the  child  had 
said. 

"  My  dear,"  he  answered,  "  the  boy  must  think 
of  these  things." 

"  But  he  ought  not  to  be  talking  disrespectful- 
ly," contended  she. 


24 


PASSENGEES    BY    JOBY'S    VAN 

One  Tuesday,  toward  the  end  of  September, 
Taffy  saw  bis  father  off  by  Job's  van;  and  the 
Eriday  after,  walked  down  with  his  mother  to 
meet  him  on  his  return.  Ahnost  at  once  the 
household  began  to  pack.  The  packing  went  on 
for  a  week,  in  the  midst  of  which  his  father  de- 
parted again,  a  wagon-load  of  books  and  furni- 
ture having  been  sent  forward  on  the  road  that 
same  morning.  Then  followed  a  day  or  two, 
during  which  Taffy  and  his  mother  took  their 
meals  at  the  window-seat, sitting  on  corded  boxes; 
and  an  evening,  when  he  went  out  to  the  cannon 
in  the  square,  and  around  the  little  back  garden, 
saying  good-by  to  the  fixtures  and  the  few  odds 
and  ends  which  were  to  be  left  behind — the  tool- 
shed  (Crusoe's  hut,  Cave  of  Adullam,  and  treas- 
ury of  the  Forty  Thieves),  the  stunted  sycamore- 
tree,  which  he  had  climbed  at  different  times  as 
Zacchseus,  Ali  Baba,  and  Man  Friday  with  the 
bear  behind  him ;  the  clothes'  prop,  which,  on  the 
strength  of  its  forked  tail,  had  so  often  played 
Dragon  to  his  St.  George.  "When  he  returned 
to  the  empty  house,  he  found  his  mother  in  the 
passage.  She  had  been  for  a  walk  alone.  The 
candle  was  lit,  and  he  saw  she  had  been  crying. 
This  told  him  where  she  had  been;  for,  although 

25 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

he  remembered  nothing  about  it,  he  knew  he  had 
once  possessed  a  small  sister,  who  lived  with  them 
less  than  two  months.  He  had,  as  a  rule,  very- 
definite  notions  of  death  and  the  grave;  but  he 
never  thought  of  her  as  dead  and  buried,  partly 
because  his  mother  would  never  allow  him  to  go 
with  her  to  the  cemetery,  and  partly  because  of  a 
picture  in  a  certain  book  of  his,  called  "  Child's 
Play."  It  represented  a  little  girl  wading  across 
a  pool  among  water-lilies.  She  wore  a  white 
nightdress,  kilted  above  her  knees,  and  a  dark 
cloak,  which  dragged  behind  in  the  water.  She 
let  it  trail,  while  she  held  up  a  hand  to  cover  one 
of  her  eyes.  Above  her  were  trees  and  an  owl, 
and  a  star  shining  under  the  topmost  branch ;  and 
on  the  opposite  page  this  verse: 

I  have  a  little  sister, 

They  call  her  Peep-peep, 
She  wades  through  the  waters, 

Deep,  deep,  deep  ; 
She  climbs  up  the  mountains, 

High,  high,  high  ; 
This  poor  little  creature 

She  has  but  one  eye. 

For  years  TafFy  believed  that  this  was  his  little 
sister,  one-eyed,  and  always  wandering;  and  that 

26 


PASSENGERS    BY    JOBY'S    VAN 

his  mother  went  out  in  the  dusk  to  persuade  her 
to  return;  but  she  never  would. 

When  he  woke  next  morning  his  mother  was 
in  the  room ;  and  while  he  washed  and  dressed  she 
folded  his  bed-clothes  and  carried  them  down  to 
a  wagon  which  stood  by  the  door,  with  horses  al- 
ready harnessed.  It  drove  away  soon  after.  He 
found  breakfast  laid  on  the  window-seat.  A 
neighbor  had  lent  the  crockery,  and  Taffy  was 
greatly  taken  with  the  pattern  on  the  cups  and 
saucers.  He  wanted  to  run  round  again  and  re- 
peat his  good-byes  to  the  house,  but  there  was  no 
time.  By  and  by  the  door  opened,  and  two  men, 
neighbors  of  theirs,  entered  with  an  invalid's  lit- 
ter; and.  Humility  directing,  brought  down  old 
Mrs.  Venning.  She  wore  the  comer  of  a  Paisley 
shawl  over  her  white  cap,  and  carried  a  nosegay 
of  flowers  in  place  of  her  lace-pillow;  but  other- 
wise looked  much  as  usual. 

"  Quite  the  traveller,  you  see,"  she  cried  gay- 
ly  to  Taffy. 

Then  the  woman  who  had  lent  the  breakfast- 
ware  came  running  to  say  that  Job  was  getting 
impatient.  Humility  handed  the  door-key  to 
her,  and  so  the  little  procession  passed  out   and 

down  across  Mount  Folly. 

27 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Job  had  drawn  his  van  up  close  to  the  granite 
steps.  They  were  the  only  passengers,  it  seemed. 
The  invalid  was  hoisted  in,  and  laid  with  her 
couch  across  the  seats,  so  that  her  shoulders  rested 
against  one  side  of  the  van  and  her  feet  against 
the  other.  Humility  climbed  in  after  her;  but 
Taffy,  to  his  joy,  was  given  a  seat  outside  on  the 
box. 

"C'k!"— they  were  off. 

As  they  crawled  up  the  street  a  few  townspeo- 
ple paused  on  the  pavement  and  waved  fare- 
wells. At  the  top  of  the  town  they  overtook 
three  sailor-boys,  with  bundles,  who  climbed  up 
and  perched  themselves  a-top  of  the  van,  on  the 
luggage. 

On  they  went  again.  There  were  two  horses 
• — a  roan  and  a  gray.  Taffy  had  never  before 
looked  down  on  the  back  of  a  horse,  and  Job's 
horses  astonished  him;  they  were  so  broad  be- 
hind, and  so  narrow  at  the  shoulders.  He  wanted 
to  ask  if  the  shape  were  at  all  common,  but  felt 
shy.  He  stole  a  glance  at  the  silver  ring  in  Job's 
left  ear,  and  blushed  when  Job  turned  and  caught 
him. 

"Here,  catch  hold!"  said  Job,  handing  him 
the  whip.     "  Only  you  mustn't  use  it  too  fierce." 

28 


PASSENGERS    BY    JOBY'S    VAN 

"  Thank  you." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  be  a  scholar,  like  your 
father?     Can  'ee  spell?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Cipher?" 

"  Yes." 

"  That's  more  than  I  can.  I  counts  upon  my 
fingers.  When  they  be  used  up,  I  begins  upon 
my  buttons.  I  ha'n't  got  no  buttons — visible 
that  is — 'pon  my  week-a-day  clothes;  so  I  keeps 
the  long  sums  for  Sundays,  and  adds  'em  up  and 
down  my  weskit  during  sermon.  Don't  tell  any 
person." 

"  I  won't." 

"  That's  right.  I  don't  want  it  known.  Ever 
see  a  gipsy?" 

"  Oh,  yes— often." 

"  Next  time  you  see  one  you'll  know  why  he 
wears  so  many  buttons.    You've  a  lot  to  learn." 

The  van  zigzagged  down  one  hill  and  up  an- 
other, and  halted  at  a  turnpike.  An  old  woman 
in  a  pink  sun-bonnet  bustled  out  and  handed  Job 
a  pink  ticket.  A  little  way  beyond  they  passed 
the  angle  of  a  mining  district,  with  four  or  five 
engine-houses  high  up  like  castles  on  the  hill-side, 

and  rows  of  stamps  clattering  and  working    up 

29 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

and  down  like  ogres'  teeth.  Next  they  came  to 
a  church  town,  with  a  green  and  a  heap  of  linen 
spread  to  dry  (for  it  was  Tuesday),  and  a  flock  of 
geese  that  ran  and  hissed  after  the  van,  until  Joby 
took  the  whip  and,  leaning  out,  looped  the  gander 
by  the  neck  and  pulled  him  along  in  the  dust. 
The  sailor-boys  shouted  with  laughter  and  struck 
up  a  song  about  a  fox  and  a  goose,  which  lasted 
all  the  way  up  a  long  hill  and  brought  them  to  a 
second  turnpike,  on  the  edge  of  the  moors.  Here 
lived  an  old  woman  in  a  blue  sun-bonnet;  and 
she  handed  Joby  a  yellow  ticket. 

"  But  why  does  she  wear  a  blue  bonnet  and 
give  yellow  tickets?"  Taffy  asked  as  they  drove 
on. 

Joby  considered  for  a  minute.  "  Ah,  you're 
one  to  take  notice,  I  see.  That's  right,  keep  your 
eyes  skinned  when  you  travel." 

Taffy  had  to  think  this  out.  The  country  was 
changing  now.  They  had  left  stubble  fields  and 
hedges  behind,  and  before  them  the  granite  road 
stretched  like  a  white  ribbon,  with  moors  on 
either  hand,  dotted  with  peat-ricks  and  reedy 
pools  and  cropping  ponies,  and  rimmed  in  the 
distance  with  clay-works  glistening  in  the  sunny 
weather. 

30 


PASSENGERS    BY    JOBY'S    VAN 

*'  What  sort  of  place  is  Nannizabuloe?" 
"  I  don't  go  on  there.     I  drop  ycu  at  Indian 
Queen's." 

"  But  what  sort  of  place  is  it?" 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  folks  say  of  it: 

All  sea  and  san's, 

Out  of  the  world  and  into  St.  Ann's. 

That's  what  they  say,  and  if  I'm  wrong  you  may 
call  me  a  liar." 

"  And  Squire  Moyle?  "  Taffy  persevered. 

"  What  kind  of  man  is  he?  " 

Joby  turned  and  eyed  him  severely.  "  Look 
here,  sonny,  I  got  my  living  to  get." 

This  silenced  Taify  for  a  long  while,  but  he 
picked  up  his  courage  again  by  degrees.  There 
was  a  small  window  at  his  back,  and  he  twisted 
himself  round,  and  nodded  to  his  mother  and 
grandmother  inside  the  van.  He  could  not  hear 
what  they  answered,  for  the  sailor-boys  were 
singing  at  the  top  of  their  voices : 

I  will  sing  you  One,  O ! 
What  is  your  One,  O  ? 
Number  One  sits  all  alone,  and  ever  more  shall  be-e  so. 


31 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

"  They're  home  'pon  leave,"  said  Joby.  The 
song  went  on  and  reached  Number  Seven: 

I  will  sing  you  Seven,  O ! 
What  is  your  Seven,  O  ? 
Seven  be  seven  stars  in  the  ship  a-sailing  round  in 
Heaven,  O! 

One  of  the  boys  leaned  from  the  roof  and 
twitched  Taffy  by  the  hair.  "Hullo,  nipper! 
Did  you  ever  see  a  ship  of  stars?"  He  grinned 
and  pulled  open  his  sailor's  jumper  and  singlet; 
and  there,  on  his  naked  breast,  Taffy  saw  a  ship 
tattooed,  with  three  masts,  and  a  half-circle  of 
stars  above  it,  and  below  it  the  initials  W.  P. 

"  D'ee  think  my  mother'll  know  me  again?" 
asked  the  boy,  and  the  other  two  began  to  laugh. 

"  Yes,  I  think  so,"  said  Taffy,  gravely;  which 
made  them  laugh  more  than  ever. 

"  But  why  is  he  painted  like  that?"  he  asked 
Joby,  as  they  took  up  their  song  again. 

"  Ah,  you'll  larn  over  to  St.  Ann's,  being  one 
to  notice  things."  The  nearer  he  came  to  it,  the 
more  mysterious  this  new  home  of  Taffy'sseeroed 
to  grow.  By  and  by  Humility  let  down  the  win- 
dow   and    handed  out  a  pasty.     Joby  searched 

under  his  seat  and  found  a  pasty,  twice  the  size  of 

32 


PASSENGERS    BY    JOBY'S    VAN 

Taffy's,  in  a  nose-bag.  They  ate  as  they  went. 
Late  in  the  afternoon  they  came  to  hedges  again, 
and  at  length  to  an  inn;  and  in  front  of  it  Taffy 
spied  his  father  waiting  with  a  farm-cart.  While 
Joby  baited  his  horses,  the  sailor-boys  helped  to 
lift  out  the  invalid  and  transship  the  luggage; 
after  which  they  climbed  on  the  roof  again,  and 
were  jogged  away  northward  in  the  dusk,  waving 
their  caps  and  singing. 

The  most  remarkable  thing  about  the  inn  was 
its  signboard.  This  bore  on  either  side  the  pict- 
ure of  an  Indian  queen  and  two  blackamoor  chil- 
dren, all  with  striped  parasols,  walking  together 
across  a  desert.  The  queen  on  one  side  wore  a 
scarlet  turban  and  a  blue  robe ;  but  the  queen  on 
the  other  side  wore  a  blue  turban  and  a  scarlet 
robe.  Taffy  dodged  from  side  to  side,  compar- 
ing them,  and  had  not  made  up  his  mind  which 
he  liked  best  when  Humility  called  him  indoors 
to  tea. 

They  had  ham  and  eggs  with  their  tea,  which 
they  took  in  a  great  hurry;  and  then  his  grand- 
mother was  lifted  into  the  cart  and  laid  on  a  bed 
of  clean  straw  beside  the  boxes,  and  he  and  his 
mother  clambered  up  in  front.  So  they  started 
again,  his  father  walking  at  the  horse's  head. 

33 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

They  took  the  road  toward  the  sunset.  As  the 
dusk  fell  closer  around,  Mr.  Raymond  lit  a  horn 
lantern  and  carried  it  before  them.  The  rays  of 
it  danced  and  wheeled  upon  the  hedges  and  gorse 
bushes.  Taffy  began  to  feel  sleepy,  though  it 
was  long  before  his  usual  bedtime.  The  air 
seemed  to  weigh  his  eyelids  down.  Or  was  it  a 
sound  lulling  him?  He  looked  up  suddenly.  His 
mother's  arm  was  about  him.  Stars  flashed 
above,  and  a  glimmer  fell  on  her  gentle  face — a 
dew  of  light,  as  it  were.  Her  dark  eyes  appeared 
darker  than  usual  as  she  leaned  and  drew  her 
shawl  over  his  shoulder. 

Ahead,  the  rays  of  the  lantern  kept  up  their 
dance,  but  they  flared  now  and  again  upon  stone 
hedges  built  in  zigzag  layers,  and  upon  un- 
known feathery  bushes,  intensely  green,  and 
glistening  every  now  and  then  like  metal. 

The  cart  jolted  and  the  lantern  swung  to  a 
soundless  tune  that  filled  the  night.  When  Taffy 
listened  it  ceased;  when  he  ceased  listening,  it  be- 
gan again. 

The  lantern  stopped  its  dance  and  stood  still 
over  a  ford  of  black  water.  The  cart  splashed 
into  it  and  became  a  ship,  heaving  and  lurching 
over  a  soft,  irregular  floor  that  returned  no  sound. 

34 


PASSENGEES    BY    JOBY'S    VAN 

But  suddenly  the  ship  became  a  cart  again,  and 
stood  still  before  a  house  with  a  narrow  garden- 
path  and  a  light  streaming  along  it  from  an  open 
door. 

His  father  lifted  him  down;  his  mother  took 
his  hand.  They  seemed  to  wade  together  up 
that  stream  of  light.  Then  came  a  staircase  and 
room  with  a  bed  in  it,  which,  oddly  enough, 
turned  out  to  be  his  own.  He  stared  at  the  pink 
roses  on  the  curtains.  Yes;  certainly  it  was  his 
own  bed.  And  satisfied  of  this,  he  nestled  down 
in  the  pillows  and  slept,  to  the  long  cadence  of 
the  sea. 


35 


IV 

THE  RUNNING  SANDS 

He  awoke  to  find  the  sun  shining  in  at  his  win- 
dow. At  first  he  wondered  what  had  happened. 
The  window  seemed  to  be  in  the  ceihng,  and  the 
ceiling  sloped  down  to  the  walls,  and  all  the  furni- 
ture had  gone  astray  into  wrong  positions.  Then 
he  remembered,  jumped  out  of  bed,  and  drew  the 
blind. 

He  saw  a  blue  line  of  sea,  so  clearly  drawn  that 
the  horizon  might  have  been  a  string  stretched 
from  the  corner  eaves  to  the  snow-white  light- 
house standing  on  the  farthest  spit  of  land;  blue 
sea  and  yellow  sand  curving  round  it,  with  a 
white  edge  of  breakers;  inshore,  the  sand  rising 
to  a  cliff  ridged  with  grassy  hummocks;  farther 
inshore,  the  hummocks  united  and  rolling  away 
up  to  inland  downs,  but  broken  here  and  there  on 
their  way  with  scars  of  sand ;  over  all,  white  gulls 
wheeling.  He  could  hear  the  nearest  ones  mew- 
ing as  they  sailed  over  the  house. 

Taffy  had  seen  the  sea  once  before,  at  Dawlish, 

36 


THE    RUNNING    SANDS 

on  the  journey  to  Tewkesbury ;  and  again  on  the 
way  home.  But  here  it  was  bhier  altogether,  and 
the  sands  were  yellower.  Only  he  felt  disap- 
pointed that  no  ship  was  in  sight,  nor  any  dwell- 
ing nearer  than  the  light-house  and  the  two  or 
three  white  cottages  behind  it.  He  dressed  in  a 
hurry  and  said  his  prayers,  repeating  at  the  close, 
as  he  had  been  taught  to  do,  the  first  and  last 
verses  of  the  Morning  Hymn: 

Awake,  my  soul,  and  with  the  sun 

Thy  daily  stage  of  duty  run  ; 
Sliake  off  dull  sloth,  and  joyful  rise 

To  pay  thy  morning  sacrifice. 

Praise  God,  from  whom  all  blessings  flow. 
Praise  Him,  all  creatures  here  below  ; 

Praise  Him  above,  ye  heavenly  host, 
Praise  Father,  Son,  and  Holy  Ghost. 

He  ran  downstairs.  In  this  queer  house  the  stairs 
led  right  down  into  the  kitchen.  The  front  door, 
too,  opened  into  the  kitchen,  which  was  really  a 
slate-paved  hall,  with  a  long  table  set  between  the 
doorway  and  the  big  open  hearth.  The  floor  was 
always  strewn  with  sand;  there  was  no  trouble 
about  this,  for  the  wind  blew  plenty  under  the 
door. 

37 


4€3ec?3 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Taffy  found  the  table  laid,  and  his  mother  busi- 
ly slicing  bread  for  his  bread  and  milk.  He 
begged  for  a  hot  cake  from  the  hearth,  and  ran 
out  of  doors  to  eat  it.  Humility  lifted  the  latch 
for  him,  for  the  cake  was  so  hot  that  he  had  to 
pass  it  from  hand  to  hand. 

Outside,  the  wind  came  upon  him  with  clap 
on  the  shoulder,  quite  as  if  it  had  been  a  comrade 
waiting. 

Taffy  ran  down  the  path  and  out  upon  the 
sandy  hummocks,  setting  his  face  to  the  wind  and 
the  roar  of  the  sea,  keeping  his  head  low,  and  still 
shifting  the  cake  from  hand  to  hand.  By-and-by 
he  fumbled  and  dropped  it;  stooped  to  pick  it  up, 
but  saw  something  which  made  him  kneel  and 
peer  into  the  ground. 

The  whole  of  the  sand  was  moving;  not  by  fits 
and  starts,  but  constantly;  the  tiny  particles  run- 
ning over  each  other  and  drifting  in  and  out  of 
the  rushes,  like  little  creatures  in  a  dream.  While 
he  looked,  they  piled  an  embankment  against  the 
edge  of  his  cake.  He  picked  it  up,  ran  forward  a 
few  yards,  and  peered  again.  Yes,  here  too; 
here  and  yonder,  and  over  every  inch  of  that  long 
shore. 

He  ate  his  cake  and  climbed  to  the  beach, 

38 


THE    RUNNING    SANDS 

and  ran  along  it,  watching  the  sandhoppers  that 
skipped  from  under  his  boots  at  every  step,  and 
were  lost  on  the  instant.  The  beach  here  was 
moist  and  firm.  He  pulled  off  his  boots  and 
stockings,  and  ran  on,  conning  his  footprints  and 
the  driblets  of  sand  split  ahead  from  his  bare 
toes.  By  and  by  he  came  to  the  edge  of  the  surf. 
The  strand  here  was  glassy  wet,  and  each  curving 
wave  sent  a  shadow  flying  over  it,  and  came  after 
the  shadow,  thundering  and  hissing,  and  chased 
it  up  the  shore,  and  fell  back,  leaving  for  a  second 
or  two  an  edge  of  delicate  froth  which  reminded 
the  boy  of  his  mother's  lace-work. 

He  began  a  sort  of  game  with  the  waves,  choos- 
ing one  station  after  another,  and  challenging 
them  to  catch  him  there.  If  the  edge  of  froth 
failed  to  reach  his  toes,  he  won.  But  once  or 
twice  the  water  caught  him  fairly,  and  ran  rip- 
pling over  his  instep  and  about  his  ankles. 

He  was  deep  in  this  game  when  he  heard  a 
horn  blown  somewhere  high  on  the  towans  be- 
hind him. 

He  turned.  No  one  was  in  sight.  The  house 
lay  behind  the  sand-banks,  the  first  ridge  hiding 
even  its  chimney-smoke.  He  gazed  along  the 
beach,  where  the  perpetual  haze  of  spray  seemed 

39 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

to  have  removed  the  light-house  to  a  vast  dis- 
tance. A  sense  of  desolation  came  over  him 
with  a  rush,  and  with  something  between  a  gasp 
and  a  sob,  he  turned  his  back  to  the  sea  and  ran, 
his  boots  dangling  from  his  shoulders  by  their 
knotted  laces. 

He  pounded  up  the  first  slope  and  looked  for 
the  cottage.  No  sign  of  it!  An  insane  fancy 
seized  him.  These  silent  moving  sands  were 
after  him. 

He  was  panting  along  in  real  distress  when  he 
heard  the  baying  of  dogs,  and  at  the  same  instant 
from  the  top  of  a  hummock  caught  sight  of  a 
figure  outlined  against  the  sky,  and  barely  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  away;  the  figure  of  a  girl  on  horse- 
back— a  small  girl  on  a  very  tall  horse. 

Just  as  Taffy  recognized  her,  she  turned  her 
horse,  walked  him  down  into  the  hollow  beyond, 
and  disappeared.  Taffy  ran  toward  the  spot, 
gained  the  ridge  where  she  had  been  standing, 
and  looked  down. 

In  a  hollow  about  twenty  feet  deep  and  per- 
haps a  hundred  wide  were  gathered  a  dozen 
riders,  with  five  or  six  couples  of  hounds,  and  two 
or  three  dirty  terriers.  Two  of  the  men  had  dis- 
mounted.    One  of  these,  stripped  to  his  shirt  and 

40 


THE    KUNNING    SANDS 

breeches,  was  leaning  on  a  long-handled  spade 
and  laughing.  The  other — a  fellow  in  a  shabby 
scarlet  coat — held  up  what  Taffy  guessed  to  be  a 
fox,  though  it  seemed  a  very  small  one.  It  was 
bleeding.  The  hounds  yapped  and  leapt  at,  and 
fell  back  a-top  of  each  other,  snarling,  while  the 
Whip  grinned  and  kept  them  at  bay.  A  knife 
lay  between  his  wide-planted  feet,  and  a  visgy* 
close  behind  him  on  a  heap  of  disturbed  sand. 

The  boy  came  on  them  from  the  eastward,  and 
his  shadow  fell  across  the  hollow. 

"Hullo!"  said  one  of  the  riders,  looking  up. 
It  was  Squire  Moyle  himself.  "  Here's  the  new 
Passon's  boy!" 

All  the  riders  looked  up.  The  Whip  looked 
too,  and  turned  to  the  old  Squire  with  a  wider 
grin  than  before. 

"  Shall  I  christen  en,  maister?" 

The  Squire  nodded.  Before  Taffy  knew  what 
it  meant,  the  man  was  climbing  toward  him  with 
a  grin,  clutching  the  rush  bents  with  one  hand, 
and  holding  out  the  blood-dabbled  mask  with  the 
other.  The  child  turned  to  run,  but  a  hand 
clutched  his  ankle.  He  saw  the  man's  open 
mouth  and  yellow  teeth;  and,  choking  with  dis- 

*  Mattock. 
41 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

gust  and  terror,  slung  his  boots  at  them  with  all 
his  small  force.  At  the  same  instant  he  was 
jerked  off  his  feet,  the  edge  of  the  bank  crumbled 
and  broke,  and  the  two  went  rolling  down  the 
sandy  slope  in  a  heap.  He  heard  shouts  of  laugh- 
ter, caught  a  glimpse  of  blue  sky,  felt  the  grip  of 
fingers  on  his  throat,  and  smelt  the  verminous 
odor  of  the  dead  cub,  as  the  Whip  thrust  the 
bloody  mess  against  his  face  and  neck.  Then  the 
grip  relaxed,  and — it  seemed  to  him,  amid  dead 
silence — Taffy  sprang  to  his  feet,  spitting  sand 
and  fury. 

"  You — you  devils!"  He  caught  up  the  visgy 
and  stood,  daring  all  to  come  on.  "  You  devils!" 
He  tottered  forward  with  the  visgy  lifted — it  was 
all  he  could  manage — at  Squire  Moyle.  The  old 
man  let  out  an  oath,  and  the  curve  of  his  whip- 
thong  took  the  boy  across  the  eyes  and  blinded 
him  for  a  moment,  but  did  not  stop  him.  The 
gray  horse  swerved,  and  half-wheeled,  exposing 
his  flank.  In  another  moment  there  would  have 
been  mischief;  but  the  Whip,  as  he  stood  wiping 
his  mouth,  saw  the  danger  and  ran  in.  He 
struck  the  visgy  out  of  the  child's  grasp,  set  his 
foot  on  it,  and  with  an  open-handed  cuff  sent  him 
floundering  into  a  sand-heap. 

42 


THE    RUNNING    SANDS 

"Nice  boy,  that!"  said  somebody,  and  the 
whole  company  laughed  as  they  walked  their 
horses  slowly  out  of  the  hollow. 

They  passed  before  Taffy  in  a  blur  of  tears; 
and  the  last  rider  to  go  was  the  small  girl,  Hon- 
oria,  on  her  tall  sorrel.  She  moved  up  the  broad 
shelving  path,  but  reined  up,  just  within  sight, 
turned  her  horse,  and  came  slowly  back  to  him. 

"  If  I  were  you,  I'd  go  home."  She  pointed 
in  its  direction. 

Taffy  brushed  the  back  of  his  hand  across  his 
eyes.     "  Go  away.  I  hate  you — I  hate  you  all!" 

She  eyed  him  while  she  smoothed  the  sorrel's 
mane  with  her  riding-switch. 

"  They  did  it  to  me  three  years  ago,  when  I 
was  six.     Grandfather  called  it  '  entering  '  me." 

Taffy  kept  his  eyes  sullenly  on  the  ground. 
Finding  that  he  would  not  answer,  she  turned  her 
horse  again  and  rode  slowly  after  the  others. 
Taffy  heard  the  soft  footfalls  die  away,  and  when 
he  looked  up  she  had  vanished. 

He  picked  up  his  boots  and  started  in  the  direc- 
tion to  which  she  had  pointed.  Every  now  and 
then  a  sob  shook  him.  By  and  by  the  chimneys 
of  the  house  hove  in  sight  among  the  ridges,  and 

he  ran  toward  it.     But  within  a  gunshot  of  the 

43 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

white  garden-wall  his  breast  swelled  suddenly 
and  he  flung  himself  on  the  ground  and  let  the 
big  tears  run.  They  made  little  pits  in  the  mov- 
ing sand;  and  more  sand  drifted  up  and  covered 
them. 

"  Taffy !  Taffy !  Whatever  has  become  of  the 
child?" 

His  mother  was  standing  by  the  gate  in  her 
print  frock.  He  scrambled  up  and  ran  toward 
her.  She  cried  out  at  the  sight  of  him,  but  he 
hid  his  blood-smeared  face  against  her  skirts. 


44 


TAFFY  EINGS  THE   CHURCH-BELL 

They  were  in  the  church — Squire  Moyle,  Mr. 
Raymond,  and  Taffy  close  behind.  The  two  men 
were  discussing  the  holes  in  the  roof  and  other 
dilapidations. 

"  One,  two,  three,"  the  Squire  counted.  "  I'll 
send  a  couple  of  men  with  tarpaulin  and  rick- 
ropes.  That'll  tide  us  over  next  Sunday,'  unless 
it  blows  hard." 

They  passed  up  three  steps  under  the  belfry 
arch.  Here  a  big  bell  rested  on  the  flooring.  Its 
rim  was  cracked,  but  not  badly.  A  long  ladder 
reached  up  into  the  gloom. 

"  What's  the  beam  like  ?  "  the  Squire  called  up 
to  someone  aloft. 

"  Sound  as  a  bell,"  answered  a  voice. 

"  I  said  so.    We'll  have  en  hoisted  by  Sunday. 

I'll  send  a  wagon  over  to  Wheel  Gooniver  for  a 

tackle  and  winch.     Damme,  up  there!     Don't 

45 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

keep  sheddin'  such  a  muck  o'  dust  on  your  bet- 
ters! " 

"  I  can't  help  no  other,  Squire!  "  said  the  voice 
overhead;  "  such  a  cauch  o'  pihn  an'  twigs  an' 
birds'  droppin's!    If  I  sneeze  I'm  a  lost  man." 

Taffy,  staring  up  as  well  as  he  could  for  the 
falling  rubbish,  could  just  spy  a  white  smock 
above  the  beam,  and  a  glint  of  daylight  on  the 
toe-scutes  of  two  dangling  boots. 

"  I'll  dam  soon  make  you  help  it.  7s  the 
beam  sound?" 

"  Ha'n't  I  told  'ee  so?  "  said  the  voice,  queru- 
lously. 

"  Then  come  down  off  the  ladder,  you  son  of 

a — ■-:' 

"  Gently,  Squire !  "  put  in  Mr.  Raymond. 

The  Squire  groaned.    "  There  I  go  again — an' 

in  the  House  of  God  itself !    Oh !  'tis  a  case  with 

me!     I've  a  heart  o'  stone — a  heart  o'  stone." 

He  turned  and  brushed  his  rusty  hat  with  his 

coat-cuff.      Suddenly    he    faced    round    again. 

"  Here,  Bill  Udy,"  he  said  to  the  old  laborer  who 

had  just  come  down  the  ladder,  "  catch  hold  of 

my  hat  an'  carry  en  fore  to  porch.    I  keep  forget- 

tin'  I'm  in  church,  an'  then  on  he  goes." 

The  building  stood  half  a  mile  from  the  sea, 

46 


TxVFFY    RINGS    THE    CHURCH-BELL 

surrounded  by  the  rolling  towans  and  rabbit  bur- 
rows, and  a  few  lichen-spotted  tombstones  slant- 
ing inland.  Early  in  the  sixteenth  century  a  Lon- 
don merchant  had  been  shipwrecked  on  the  coast 
below  Nannizabuloe  and  cast  ashore,  the  one 
saved  out  of  thirty.  He  asked  to  be  shown  a 
church  in  which  to  give  thanks  for  his  preserva- 
tion, and  the  people  led  him  to  a  ruin  bedded  in 
the  sands.  It  had  lain  since  the  days  of  Arundel's 
Rebellion.  The  Londoner  vowed  to  build  a  new 
church  there  on  the  towans,  where  the  songs  of 
prayer  and  praise  should  mingle  with  the  voice 
of  the  waves  which  God  had  baffled  for  him.  The 
people  warned  him  of  the  sand;  but  he  would 
not  listen  to  reason.  He  built  his  church — a  squat 
perpendicular  building  of  two  aisles,  the  wider 
divided  into  nave  and  chancel  merely  by  a  granite 
step  in  the  flooring;  he  saw  it  consecrated,  and 
returned  to  his  home  and  died.  And  the  church 
steadily  decayed.  He  had  mixed  his  mortar  with 
sea-sand.  The  stonework  oozed  brine,  the  plaster 
fell  piece-meal;  the  blown  sand  penetrated  like 
water;  the  foundations  sank  a  foot  on  the  south 
side,  and  the  whole  structure  took  a  list  to  lee- 
ward. The  living  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
Dean  and  Chapter  of  Exeter,  and  from  them,  in 

A7 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

1730,  to  the  Moyles.  Mr.  Raymond's  predeces- 
sor was  a  kinsman  of  theirs  by  marriage,  a  plural- 
ist, who  lived  and  died  at  the  other  end  of  the 
Duchy.  He  had  sent  curates  from  time  to  time ; 
the  last  of  whom  was  dead,  three  years  since,  of 
solitude  and  drink.  But  he  never  came  himself. 
Squire  Moyle  having  threatened  to  set  the  dogs 
on  him  if  ever  he  set  foot  in  Nannizabuloe ;  for 
there  had  been  some  dispute  over  a  dowry.  The 
result  was  that  nobody  went  to  church,  though 
a  parson  from  the  next  parish  held  an  occasional 
service.  The  people  were  Wesleyan  Methodists 
or  Bryanites.  Each  sect  had  its  own  chapel  in 
the  fishing  village  of  Innis,  on  the  western  side 
of  the  parish;  and  the  Bryanites  a  second  one, 
at  the  cross-roads  behind  the  downs,  for  the 
miners  and  warreners  and  scattered  farm-folk. 

Ding — ding — ding — ding — ding. 

It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  Taffy  was  sound- 
ing the  bell,  by  a  thin  rope  tied  to  its  clapper. 

The  heavy  bell-rope  would  be  ready  next 
week ;  but  Humility  must  first  contrive  a  woollen 
binding  for  it,  to  prevent  its  chafing  the  ringer's 
hands. 

Out  on  the  towans  the  rabbits  heard  the  sound, 
and   ran    scampering.      Others,    farther    away, 

48 


TAFFY    EINGS    THE    CHURCH-BELL 

paused  in  their  feeding,  and  listened  with  cocked 
ears. 

Ding — ding — ding. 

Mr.  Raymond  stood  in  the  belfry  at  the  boy's 
elbow.  He  wore  his  surplice,  and  held  his  prayer- 
book  with  a  finger  between  the  pages.  Glancing 
down  toward  the  nave,  he  saw  Humility  sitting  in 
the  big  vicarage  pew — no  other  soul  in  church. 

He  took  the  cord  from  Taffy,  "  Run  to  the 
door,  and  see  if  anyone  is  coming." 

Taffy  ran,  and  after  a  minute  came  back. 

"  There's  Squire  Moyle  coming  along  the  path, 
and  the  little  girl  with  him,  and  some  servants  be- 
hind— five  or  six  of  them.    Bill  Udy's  one." 

"Nobody  else?" 

"  I  expect  the  people  don't  hear  the  bell,"  said 
Taffy.    "  They  live  too  far  away." 

"  God  hears.  Yes,  and  God  sees  the  lamp  is 
lit." 

"What  lamp?"  Taffy  looked  up  at  his 
father's  face,  wondering. 

"  All  towers  carry  a  lamp  of  some  kind.  For 
what  else  are  they  built?  " 

It  was  exactly  the  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken 
that  afternoon  at  Tewkesbury  about  men  being- 
like  towers.     Both  these  sentences  puzzled  the 

49 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

boy;  and  yet  Taffy  never  felt  so  near  to  under- 
standing him  as  he  had  then,  and  did  again  now. 
He  was  shy  of  his  father.  He  did  not  know  that 
his  father  was  just  as  shy  of  him.  He  began  to 
ring  with  all  his  soul — ding — ding-ding,  ding- 
ding. 

The  old  Squire  entered  the  church,  paused,  and 
blew  his  nose  violently,  and,  taking  Honoria  by 
the  hand,  marched  her  up  to  the  end  of  the  south 
aisle.  The  door  of  the  great  pew  was  shut  upon 
them,  and  they  disappeared.  Before  Honoria 
vanished,  Taffy  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  gray  felt 
hat  with  pink  ribbons. 

The  servants  scattered,  and  found  seats  in  the 
body  of  the  church.  He  went  on  ringing,  but  no 
one  else  came.  After  a  minute  or  two  Mr.  Ray- 
mond signed  to  him  to  stop  and  go  to  his  mother, 
which  he  did,  blushing  at  the  noise  of  his  shoes 
on  the  slate  pavement.  Mr.  Raymond  followed, 
walked  slowly  past,  and  entered  the  reading-desk. 

"  When  the  wicked  man  tumeth  away  from 
his  wickedness  that  he  hath  committed,  and  doeth 
that  which  is  lawful  and  right,  he  shall  save  his 
soul  alive.    .    .    ." 

Taffy  looked  toward  the  Squire's  pew.  The 
bald  top  of  the  Squire's  head  was  just  visible 

50 


TAFFY    RINGS    THE    CHUECH-BELL 

above  the  ledge.  He  looked  up  at  his  mother,  but 
her  eyes  were  fastened  on  her  prayer-book.  He 
felt — he  could  not  help  it — that  they  were  all 
gathered  to  save  this  old  man's  soul,  and  that 
everybody  knew  it,  and  secretly  thought  it  a  hope- 
less case.  The  notion  dogged  him  all  through  the 
service,  and  for  many  Sundays  after.  Always 
that  bald  head  above  the  ledge,  and  his  father 
and  the  congregation  trying  to  call  down  salva- 
tion on  it.  He  wondered  what  Honoria  thought, 
boxed  up  with  it,  and  able  to  see  its  face. 

Mr.  Raymond  mounted  an  upper  pulpit  to 
preach  his  sermon.  He  chose  his  text  from  Saint 
Matthew,  Chapter  vii.,  verses  26  and  27: 

"  And  every  one  that  Jieareth  these  sayings  of 
mine  and  doeth  them  not,  shall  he  likened  unto  a 
foolish  man  which  built  his  house  upon  the  sand; 

"  And  the  rain  descended,  and  the  foods  came, 
and  the  ivinds  blew,  and  beat  upon  that  house; 
and  it  fell;  and  great  was  the  fall  of  it." 

Taffy  never  followed  his  father's  sermons  close- 
ly. He  would  listen  to  a  sentence  or  two,  now 
and  again,  and  then  let  his  wits  wander. 

"  You  think  this  church  is  built  upon  the  sands. 

The  rain  has  come,  the  winds  have  blown  and 

51 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

beaten  on  it;  the  foundations  have  sunk,  and  it 
leans  to  leeward.  ...  By  the  blessing  of  God 
we  will  shore  it  up,  and  upon  a  foundation  of 
rock.  Upon  what  rock,  you  ask?  .  .  .  Upon 
that  Rock  which  is  the  everlasting  foundation  of 
the  Church  spiritual.  .  .  .  Hear  what  com- 
fortable words  our  Lord  spake  to  Peter.  .  .  . 
Our  foundation  must  be  faith,  which  is  God's 
continuing  Presence  on  earth,  and  which  we  shall 
recognize  hereafter  as  God  Himself.  .  .  . 
Faith  is  the  substance  of  things  hoped  for,  the 
evidence  of  things  not  seen.  ...  In  other 
words,  it  is  the  rock  we  search  for.  .  .  .  Draw 
near  it,  and  you  will  know  yourself  in  God's  very 
shadow — the  shadow  of  a  great  rock  in  a  weary 
land.  ...  As  with  this  building,  so  with  you, 
O  man,  cowering  from  wrath,  as  these  walls  are 
cowering.     .     .    ." 

The  benediction  was  pronounced,  the  pew-door 
opened,  and  the  old  man  marched  down  the  aisle, 
looking  neither  to  right  nor  to  left,  with  his  jaw 
set  like  a  closed  gin.  Honoria  followed.  She 
had  not  so  much  as  a  glance  for  Taffy;  but  in 
passing  she  gazed  frankly  at  Humility,  whom  she 
had  not  seen  before. 

Humility  was  rather  ostentatiously  cheerful  at 

52 


TAFFY    EINGS    THE    CHURCH-BELL 

dinner  that  day;  a  sure  sign  that  at  heart  she  was 
disappointed.  She  had  looked  for  a  bigger  con- 
gregation, Mrs.  Venning,  who  had  been  carried 
downstairs  for  the  meal,  saw  this,  and  asked  few 
questions.  Both  the  women  stole  glances  at  Mr. 
Raymond  when  they  thought  he  was  not  observ- 
ing them.  He  at  least  pretended  to  observe  noth- 
ing, but  chatted  away  cheerfully. 

"  Taffy,"  he  said,  after  dinner,  "  I  want  you  to 
run  up  to  Tredinnis  with  a  note  from  me.  May- 
be I  will  follow  later,  but  I  must  go  to  the  village 
first." 


53 


VI 

A    COCK-FIGHT 

A  footpath  led  Taffy  past  the  church,  and  out 
at  length  upon  a  high  road,  in  face  of  two  tall 
granite  pillars  with  an  iron  gate  between.  The 
gate  was  surmounted  with  a  big  iron  lantern,  and 
the  lantern  with  a  crest — two  snakes'  heads  inter- 
twined. The  gate  was  shut,  but  the  fence  had 
been  broken  down  on  either  side,  and  the  gap, 
through  which  Taffy  passed,  was  scored  with 
wheel-ruts.  He  followed  these  down  an  ill-kept 
road  bordered  with  furze-whins,  tamarisks,  and 
clumps  of  bannel  broom.  By  and  by  he  came  to 
a  ragged  plantation  of  stone  pines,  backed  by  a 
hedge  of  rhododendrons,  behind  Avhich  the 
hounds  were  baying  in  their  kennels.  It  put  him 
in  mind  of  the  "  Pilgrim's  Progress,"  He  heard 
the  stable  clock  strike  three,  and  caught  a 
glimpse,  over  the  shrubberies,  of  its  cupola  and 
gilt  weathercock.     And  then  a  turn  of  the  road 

brought  him  under  the  gloomy  northern  face  of 

54 


A    COCK-FIGHT 

the  house,  with  its  broad  carriage  sweep  and  sun- 
less portico.  Half  the  windows  on  this  side  had 
been  blocked  up  and  painted  black,  with  white 
streaks  down  and  across  to  represent  frame-work. 

He  pulled  at  an  iron  bell-chain  which  dangled 
by  the  great  door.  The  bell  clanged  far  within 
and  a  dozen  dogs  took  up  the  note,  yelping  in  full 
peal.  He  heard  footsteps  coming;  the  door  was 
opened,  and  the  dogs  poured  out  upon  him — 
spaniels,  terriers,  lurchers,  greyhounds,  and  a  big 
Gordon  setter — barking  at  him,  leaping  against 
him,  sniffing  his  calves.  Taffy  kept  them  at  bay 
as  best  he  could  and  waved  his  letter  at  a  wall- 
eyed man  in  a  dirty  yellow  waistcoat,  who  looked 
down  from  the  door-step  but  did  not  offer  to  call 
them  off. 

"  Any  answer?  "  asked  the  wall-eyed  man. 

Taffy  could  not  say.  The  man  took  the  letter 
and  went  to  inquire,  leaving  him  alone  with  the 
dogs. 

It  seemed  an  age  before  he  reappeared,  having 

in  the  interval  slipped  a  dirty  livery  coat  over  his 

yellow  waistcoat.     "  The  Squire  says  you're  to 

come  in."    Taffy  and  the  dogs  poured  together 

into  a  high,  stone-flagged  hall;    then  through  a 

larger  hall  and  a  long,  dark  corridor.    The  foot- 

55 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

man's  coat,  for  want  of  a  loop,  had  been  hitched 
on  a  peg  by  its  collar,  and  stuck  out  behind  his 
neck  in  the  most  ludicrous  manner;  but  he  shuf- 
fled ahead  so  fast  that  Taffy,  tripping  and  stumb- 
ling among  the  dogs,  had  barely  time  to  observe 
this  before  a  door  was  flung  open,  and  he  stood 
blinking  in  a  large  room  full  of  sunlight. 
"  Hello!     Here's  the  parson's  bantam!  " 
The  room  had  four  high,  bare  windows  through 
which  the  afternoon  sunshine  streamed  on  the 
carpet.    The  carpet  had  a  pattern  of  pink  peonies 
on  a  delicate  buff  ground,  and  was  shamefully 
dirty.     And  the  apartment,  with  its  white  paint 
and  gilding  and  Italian  sketches  in  water-color 
and  statuettes  under  glass,  might  have  been  a 
lady's   drawing-room.      But   paint   and   gilding 
were  tarnished ;  the  chintz  chair-covers  soiled  and 
torn;   the  pictures  hung  askew;    and  a  smell  of 
dog  filled  the  air. 

Squire  Moyle  sat  huddled  in  a  deep  chair,  be- 
side the  fire-place,  facing  the  middle  of  the  room, 
where  a  handsome,  high-complexioned  gentle- 
man, somewhat  past  middle  age,  lounged  on  a 
settee  and  dangled  a  gold-mounted  riding  crop. 
A  handsome  boy  knelt  at  the  back  of  the  settee 
and    leaned    over    the    handsome    gentleman's 

56 


A    COCK-FIGHT 

shoulder.  On  the  floor,  between  the  two  men, 
lay  a  canvas  bag;  and  something  moved  inside  it. 
At  the  end  of  the  room,  by  the  farthest  window, 
Ilonoria  knelt  over  a  big  portfolio.  She  wore  the 
gray  frock  and  pink  sash  which  Taffy  had  seen  in 
church  that  morning,  and  she  tossed  her  dark  hair 
back  from  her  eyes  as  she  looked  up. 

The  Squire  crumpled  up  the  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  Put  the  bag  away,"  he  safd  to  the  handsome 
gentleman.  "  'Tis  Sunday,  I  tell  'ee,  and  Parson 
will  be  here  in  an  hour.  This  is  young  six-foot  I 
was  telling  about."      He  turned  to  Taffy — 

"  Boy,  go  and  shake  hands  with  Sir  Harry 
Vyell." 

Taffy  did  as  he  was  bidden.  "  This  is  my  son 
George,"  said  Sir  Harry;  and  Taffy  shook  hands 
with  him,  too,  and  liked  his  face. 

"  Put  the  bag  away,  Harry,"  said  the  Squire. 

"  Just  to  comfort  'ee  now!  " 

"  I  tell  'ee  I  won't  look  at  'em." 

Sir  Harry  untied  the  neck  of  the  bag,  and  drew 
out  a  smaller  one;  untied  this,  and  out  strutted  a 
game-cock. 

The  old  Squire  eyed  it.  "  H'm,  he  don't  seem 
flourishing." 

"  Don't  abuse  a  bird  that's  come  twelve  miles 

57 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

in  a  bag,  on  purpose  to  cheer  you  up.     He's  a 
match  for  anything  you  can  bring." 

"  Tuts,  man,  he's  dull — no  color  nor  condition. 
Get  along  with  'ee ;  I  wouldn'  ask  a  bird  o'  mine 
to  break  the  Sabbath  for  a  wastrel  like  that." 

Sir  Harry  drew  out  a  shagreen-covered  case 
and  opened  it.  Within,  on  a  lining  of  pale  blue 
velvet,  lay  two  small  sharp  instruments  of  steel, 
very  highly  polished.  He  lifted  one,  felt  its 
point,  replaced  it,  set  down  the  Qase  on  the  carpet, 
and  fell  to  toying  with  the  ears  of  the  Gordon 
setter,  which  had  come  sniffing  out  of  curiosity. 

"  You're  a  very  obstinate  man,"  said  Squire 
Moyle.     After  a  long  pause  he  added,  "  I  sup- 
pose you're  wanting  odds? " 
"  Evens  will  do,"  said  Sir  Harry. 

The  old  man  turned  and  rang  the  bell. 

"  Tell  Jem  to  fetch  in  the  red  cock,"  he 
shouted  to  the  wall-eyed  footman — who  must 
have  been  waiting  in  the  corridor,  so  promptly 
he  appeared. 

"  And  Jim  won't  be  long  about  it  either," 
whispered  Honoria.  She  had  come  forward 
quietly,  and  stood  at  Taffy's  elbow. 

Sir  Harry  shook  a  finger  at  her  and  laid  it  on 

his  lips.    But  the  old  Squire  did  not  hear.    He 

58 


A    COCK-FIGHT 

sat  glum,  pulling  a  whisker  and  keeping  a  sour 
eye  on  the  bird,  which  was  strutting  about  in 
rather  foolish  bewilderment  at  the  pink  peonies 
on  the  carpet. 

"  I'm  giving  you  every  chance,"  he  grumbled 
at  length. 

"  Oh,  as  for  that,"  Sir  Harry  replied,  equably, 
"  have  it  out  in  the  yard,  if  you  please,  on  your 
own  dunghill." 

"  No.    Indoors  is  bad  enough." 

Jim  appeared  just  then,  and  turned  out  to  be 
Taffy's  old  enemy,  the  Whip,  bearing  the  Squire's 
game-cock  in  a  basket.  He  took  it  out;  a  very 
handsome  bird,  with  a  hackle  in  which  gold, 
purple,  and  the  richest  browns  shone  and  were 
blended. 

Sir  Harry  had  picked  up  his  bird  and  was  heel- 
ing it  with  the  long  steel  spurs;  a  very  delicate 
process,  to  judge  by  the  time  occupied  and  the 
pucker  on  his  good-tempered  brow. 

"  Ready?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

Jim,  who  had  been  heeling  the  Squire's  bird, 
nodded,  and  the  pair  were  set  down.  They  ruf- 
fled and  flew  at  each  other  without  an  instant's 
hesitation.  The  visitor,  which  five  minutes  be- 
fore had  been  staring  at  the  carpet  so  foolishly, 

59 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

was  prompt  enough  now.  For  a  moment  tlicy 
paused,  beak  to  beak,  eye  to  eye,  furious,  witli 
necks  outstretched  and  hackles  stiff  with  the 
rage  of  battle.  Then  they  began  to  rise  and 
fall  like  two  feathers  tossing  in  the  air,  very 
quietly.  But  for  the  soft  whir  of  wings  there 
was  no  sound  in  the  room.  Taffy  could  scarcely 
believe  they  were  fighting  in  earnest.  For  a  mo- 
ment they  seemed  to  touch — to  touch  and  no 
more,  and  for  a  moment  only — but  in  that  mo- 
ment the  stroke  was  given.  The  home  champion 
fluttered  down,  stood  on  his  legs  for  a  moment,  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  then  toppled  over  and 
lay  twitching,  as  his  conqueror  strutted  over  him 
and  lifted  his  throat  to  crow. 

Squire  Moyle  rose,  clutching  the  corner  of  his 
chair.  His  mouth  opened  and  shut,  but  no  words 
came.  Sir  Harry  caught  up  his  bird,  whipped  off 
his  spurs,  and  thrust  him  back  into  the  bag.  The 
old  man  dropped  back,  letting  his  chin  sink  on  his 
high  stock-collar. 

"  It  serves  me  right.  Who  shall  deliver  me 
from  the  wrath  to  come?  " 

"  Oh!    as  for  that "     Sir  Harry  finished 

tying  the  neck  of  the  bag,  and  lazily  fell  to  fin- 
gering the  setter's  ear. 

GO 


A    COCK-FIGHT 

The  old  man  was  muttering  to  himself.  Taffy 
looked  at  the  dead  bird,  then  at  Honoria.  She 
was  gazing  at  it  too,  with  untroubled  eyes. 

"  But  I  will  be  saved !  I  tell  you,  Harry,  I 
will!  Take  those  birds  away.  Honoria,  hand 
me  my  Bible.  It's  all  here  " — he  tapped  the 
heavy  book — "  miracles,  redemption,  justifica- 
tion by  faith — I  will  have  faith.  I  will  believe, 
every  d d  word  of  it!  " 

Sir  Harry  broke  in  with  a  peal  of  laughter. 
Taffy  had  never  heard  a  laugh  so  musical. 

The  old  man  was  adjusting  his  spectacles;  but 
he  took  them  off  and  laid  them  down,  his  hands 
shaking  with  rage. 

"  You  came  here  to  taunt  me  " — his  voice 
shook  as  his  hand — "  me,  an  old  man,  with  no 
son  to  my  house.  You  think  there's  no  fight  left 
in  us  or  in  the  parish.  I  tell  you  what;  make 
that  boy  of  yours  strip  and  stand  up,  and  I'll  back 
the  Parson's  youngster  for  doubles  or  quits.  Off 
with  your  coat,  my  son,  and  stand  up  to  him !  " 

Taffy  turned  round  in  a  daze.     He  did  not 

understand.     His  eyes  met  Honoria's,  and  they 

were  fastened  on  him  curiously.     He  was  white 

in  the  face;  the  sight  of  the  murdered  game-cock 

had  sickened  him. 

61 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  He  doesn't  look  flourishing."  Sir  Harry 
mimicked  the  Squire's  recent  manner. 

Taffy  turned  with  the  look  of  a  hunted  animal. 
He  did  not  want  to  fight.  He  hated  this  house 
and  its  inhabitants.  The  other  boy  was  stripping 
off  his  jacket  with  a  good-humored  smile. 

"  I — I  don't  want "  Taffy  began  fumbling 

with  a  button.    "  Please " 

"  Off  with  your  coat,  boy!  You  were  game 
enough  t'other  day.  If  you  lick  en,  I'll  put  a  new 
roof  on  your  father's  church." 

Taffy  was  still  fumbling  with  his  jacket-but- 
ton when  a  bell  sounded,  clanging  through  the 
house. 

"The  Parson!" 

Squire  Moyle  clutched  at  his  Bible  like  a  child 
who  has  been  caught  playing  in  school.  Sir 
Harry  stepped  to  the  window  and  flung  up  the 
sash.  "  Out  you  tumble,  youngsters — you  too. 
Miss,  if  you  like.  Pick  up  your  coat,  George — 
cut  and  run  to  the  stables ;  I'll  be  round  in  a  min- 
ute— quick,  out  you  go !  " 

The  children  scrambled  over  the  sill  and 
dropped  onto  the  stone  terrace.  As  his  father 
closed  the  sash  behind  him,  George  Vyell 
laughed  out.     Then  Taffy  began  to  laugh;    he 

62 


A    COCK-FIGHT 

laughed  all  the  way  as  they  ran.  When  they 
reached  the  stables  he  was  swaying  with  laugh- 
ter. There  was  a  hepping-stock  by  the  stable- 
wall,  and  he  flung  himself  onto  the  slate  steps. 
He  could  not  stop  laughing.  The  two  others 
stared  at  him.  They  thought  he  had  gone 
mad. 

"  Here  comes  Dad !  "  cried  George  Vyell. 

This  sobered  Taffy.  He  sat  up  and  brushed 
his  eyes.  Sir  Harry  whistled  for  Jim,  and  told 
him  to  saddle  the  horses. 

George  and  Honoria  stood  by  the  stable-door 
and  watched  the  saddling.  The  horses  were  led 
out;  Sir  Harry's,  a  tall  gray,  George's,  a  roan 
cob. 

"  Look,  here!  "  Sir  Harry  said  to  Jim;  "  you 
take  my  bird,  and  comfort  your  master  with  him. 
I  don't  want  him  any  more." 

The  two  rode  out  of  the  yard  and  away  up  the 
avenue.  Honoria  planted  herself  in  front  of 
Taffy. 

"  Would  you  have  fought  just  now? "  she 
asked. 

"  I — I  don't  know.  That's  my  father  call- 
mg." 

"  But,  would  you  have  fought  ?  " 

63 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  I  must  go  to  him."    He  would  not  look  her 
in  the  face. 
''  Tell  me." 

"Don't  bother!    I  don't  know." 
He  ran  out  of  the  yard. 


G4 


VII 

GEOEGE 

It  appeared  that  Honoria  and  Taffy  were  to  do 
lessons  together,  and  Mr.  Raymond  was  to  teach 
them.  This  had  been  the  meaning  of  his  visit  to 
Tredinnis  House.  They  began  the  very  next  day, 
in  the  library  at  Tredinnis — a  deserted  room 
carpeted  with  badgers'  skins,  and  lined  with  un- 
dusted  books — works  on  farriery,  veterinary  sur- 
gery, and  sporting  subjects,  long  rows  of  the 
Annual  Register,  the  Arminian  Magazine. 

Taffy  began  by  counting  the  badgers'  skins. 
There  were  eighteen,  and  the  moths  had  got  into 
them,  so  that  the  draught  under  the  door  puffed 
little  drifts  of  hair  over  the  polished  boards. 
Then  he  settled  down  to  the  first  Latin  declension 
— Musa,  a  muse;  vocative,  Musa,  O  muse! ;  gen- 
itive, Musce,  of  a  muse.  Honoria  began  upon  the 
ABC. 

Mr.  Raymond  brought  a  pile  of  his  own  books, 
and  worked  at  them,  scribbling  notes  in  the  mar- 

C5 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

gin  or  on  long  slips  of  paper,  while  the  children 
learnt.  A  servant  came  in  with  a  message  from 
Squire  Moyle,  and  he  left  them  for  awhile. 

"  I  call  this  nonsense,"  said  Honoria.  "  How 
am  I  to  get  these  silly  letters  into  my  head?  " 

Taffy  was  glad  of  the  chance  to  show  off. 
"  Oh,  that's  easy.  You  make  up  a  tale  about 
them.  See  here.  A  is  the  end  of  a  house;  it's 
just  like  one  with  a  beam  across.  B  is  a  cat  with 
his  tail  curled  under  him — watch  me  drawing  it. 
C  is  an  old  woman,  stooping;  and  D  is  another 
cat,  only  his  back  is  more  rounded.  Once  upon  a 
time,  there  lived  in  a  cottage  an  old  woman  who 
went  about  with  two  cats,  one  on  each  side  of  her 
— that's  how  you  go  on." 

"  But  I  can't  go  on.    You  must  do  it  for  me." 

"  Well,  each  of  these  cats  had  a  comb,  and  was 
combed  every  Saturday  night.  One  was  a  good 
cat,  and  kept  his  comb  properly — like  E,  you  see. 
But  the  other  had  broken  a  tooth  out  of  his — 
that's  F " 

"  I  expect  he  was  a  fulmart,"  said  Honoria. 

Taffy  agreed.    He  didn't  know  what  a  fulmart 

was,  but  he  was  not  going  to  confess  it.     So  he 

went  on  hurriedly,  and  Honoria  thought  him  a 

wonder.    They  came  to  "W. 

66 


GEORGE 

"  So  they  got  into  a  ship  (I'll  show  you  how  to 
make  one  out  of  paper,  exactly  like  W),  and  sailed 
up  into  the  sky,  for  the  ship  was  a  Ship  of  Stars — 
you  make  X's  for  stars;  but  that's  a  witch-ship; 
so  "it  stuck  fast  in  Y,  which  is  a  cleft  ash-stick,  and 
then  came  a  stroke  of  lightning,  Z,  and  burnt 
them  all  up!  "    He  stopped,  out  of  breath. 

"  I  don't  understand  the  ending  at  all,"  said 
Honoria.    "  What  is  a  Ship  of  Stars?  " 

"  Haven't  you  ever  seen  one  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  I  have.    There's  a  story  about  it " 

"Tell  me  about  it?" 

"  I'll  tell  you  lots  of  stories  afterwards ;  about 
the  Frog-king  and  Aladdin  and  Man  Friday  and 
The  Girl  who  trod  on  a  Loaf." 

"And  the  Ship  of  Stars?" 

"N— no."  Taffy  felt  himself  blushing. 
"  That's  one  of  the  stories  that  won't  come — and 
they're  the  loveliest  of  all,"  he  added,  in  a  burst 
of  confidence. 

Honoria  thought  for  a  moment,  but  did  not 
understand  in  the  least.  All  she  said  was,  "  What 
funny  words  you  use!  "  She  went  back  to  her 
alphabet — A,  house;  B,  cat.  It  came  more  easi- 
ly now. 

67 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAKS 

After  lessons  she  made  him  tell  her  a  story; 
and  Taffy,  who  wished  to  be  amusing,  told  her 
about  the  "  Valiant  Tailor  who  killed  Seven  at  a 
Blow."  To  his  disgust,  it  scarcely  made  her 
smile.  But  after  this,  she  was  always  asking  for 
stories,  and  always  listened  solemnly,  with  her 
dark  eyes  fixed  on  his  face.  She  never  seemed  to 
admire  him  at  all  for  his  gift,  but  treated  it  with 
a  kind  of  indulgent  wonder,  as  if  he  were  some 
queer  animal  with  uncommon  tricks.  This 
dashed  Taffy  a  bit,  for  he  liked  to  bethought  a  fine 
fellow.  But  he  went  on  telling  his  stories,  and 
sometimes  invented  new  ones  for  her.  George 
Vyell  was  much  more  appreciative.  Sir  Harry 
had  heard  of  the  lessons,  and  wrote  to  beg  that  his 
son  might  join  the  class.  So  George  rode  over 
three  times  a  week  to  learn  Latin,  which  he  did 
with  uncommon  slowness.  But  he  thought  Taf- 
fy's stories  stunning,  and  admired  him  without  a 
shade  of  envy.  The  two  boys  liked  each  other; 
and  when  they  were  alone  Taffy  stood  an  inch  or 
two  higher  in  self-conceit  than  when  Honoria 
happened  to  be  by.  But  he  took  more  pains  with 
his  stories  if  she  was  listening.  As  for  her  lessons, 
Honoria  got  through  them  by  honest  plodding. 

She  never  quite  saw  the  use  of  them,  but  she  liked 

68 


^      GEORGE 

Mr.  Raymond.  She  learnt  more  steadily  than 
either  of  the  boys. 

One  day  George  rode  over  with  two  pairs  of 
boxing-gloves  dangling  from  his  saddle.  After 
lessons  he  and  Taffy  had  a  try  with  them,  in  a 
clearing  behind  the  shrubberies  where  the  gar- 
dener had  heaped  his  sweepings  of  dry  leaves  to 
rot  down  for  manure. 

"  But,  look  here,"  said  George,  after  the  first 
round;  "  you'll  never  learn  if  you  hit  so  wild  as 
that.  You  must  keep  your  head  up,  and  watch 
my  eyes  and  feint." 

Taffy  couldn't  help  it.  As  soon  as  ever  he 
struck  out,  he  forgot  that  it  was  not  real  fighting. 
And  he  felt  ashamed  to  look  George  straight  in 
the  face,  for  his  own  eyes  were  full  of  tears  of  ex- 
citement. At  the  end  of  the  bout,  when  George 
said,  "  Now  we  must  shake  hands;  it's  the  proper 
thing  to  do,"  he  looked  bewildered  for  a  moment. 
It  made  George  laugh  in  his  easy  way,  and  then 
Taffy  laughed  too. 

After  this  they  had  a  bout  almost  every  day; 

and  he  was  soon  able  to  hold  his  own  and  treat  it 

as  sport.    But  somehow  he  always  felt  a  passion 

behind  it,  whispering  to  him  to  put  some  nastiness 

into  his  blows,  especially  when  Honoria  came  to 

69 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

look  on.  And  yet  he  liked  George  far  better  than 
he  liked  Honoria.  Indeed  he  adored  George,  and 
the  Monday,  Wednesday,  and  Friday  mornings 
when  George  appeared  were  the  bright  spots  in 
his  week.  Lessons  were  over  at  twelve  o'clock; 
by  one  o'clock  Taffy  had  to  be  home  for  dinner. 
Loneliness  filled  the  afternoons,  but  the  child 
peopled  them  with  extravagant  fancies.  He  and 
George  were  crusaders  sworn  to  defend  the  Holy 
Sepulchre,  and  bound  by  an  oath  of  brotherhood, 
though  George  was  a  Ked  Cross  Knight  and  he  a 
plain  squire;  and  after  the  most  surprising  ad- 
ventures Taffy  received  the  barbed  and  poisoned 
arrow  intended  for  his  master,  and  died  most  im- 
pressively, with  George  and  Honoria,  and  Rich- 
ard Coeur  de  Lion,  and  most  of  the  characters 
from  "  Ivanhoe,"  sobbing  round  his  bed.  There 
was  a  Blondel  variant  too,  with  George  im- 
prisoned in  a  high  tower;  and  a  monstrous  con- 
glomerate tale  in  which  most  of  the  heroes  of  his- 
tory and  romance  played  second  fiddle  to  George, 
whose  pre-eminence,  though  occasionally  chal- 
lenged by  Achilles,  Sir  Lancelot,  or  the  Black 
Prince,  was  regularly  vindicated  by  Taffy's  time- 
ly help. 

This   tale,   with   endless   variations,   actually 

70 


GEOEGE 

lasted  him  for  two  good  years.  Tlie  scene  of  it 
never  lay  among  the  towans,  but  round  about  his 
old  home  or  the  well-remembered  meadow  at 
Tewkesbury.  That  was  his  Plain  of  Troy,  his 
Field  of  Cressy,  his  lists  of  Ashby  de  la  Zouche. 
The  high  road  at  the  back  of  the  towans  crossed 
a  stream,  by  a  ford  and  a  foot-bridge;  and  the 
travelling  postman,  if  he  had  any  letters  for  the 
Parsonage,  would  stop  by  the  foot-bridge  and 
blow  a  horn.  He  little  guessed  what  challenges 
it  sounded  to  the  small  boy  who  came  running  for 
the  post. 

The  postman  came  by,  as  a  rule,  at  two  o'clock, 
or  thereabouts.  One  afternoon  in  early  spring 
Mr.  Raymond  happened  to  be  starting  for  a  walk 
when  the  horn  was  blown,  and  he  and  Taffy  went 
to  meet  the  post  together.  There  were  three  or 
four  letters  which  the  Vicar  opened ;  and  one  for 
Humility,  which  he  put  in  his  pocket.  In  the 
midst  of  his  reading,  he  looked  up,  smiled  over  his 
spectacles,  and  said: 

"  Oxford  has  won  the  boat-race." 

Taffy  had  been  deep  in  the  Fifth  JEneid  for 

some  weeks,  and  boat-racing  ran  much  in  his 

mind. 

"  Who  is  Oxford?  "  he  asked. 

71 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Mr.  Raymond  took  off  his  spectacles  and  wiped 
them.  It  came  on  him  suddenly  that  his  child, 
whom  he  loved,  was  shut  out  from  many  of  his 
dearest  thoughts. 

"  Oxford  is  a  city,"  he  answered;  and  added, 
"  the  most  beautiful  city  in  the  world." 

"  Shall  I  ever  go  there?  "  Taffy  asked. 

Mr.  Raymond  walked  off  without  seeming  to 
hear  the  question.  But  that  evening  after  sup- 
per he  told  the  most  wonderful  tales  of  Oxford 
while  Taffy  listened  and  hoped  his  mother  would 
forget  his  bed-time;  and  Humility  listened  too, 
bending  over  her  guipure.  The  love  with  which 
he  looked  back  to  Oxford  was  the  second  passion 
of  Samuel  Raymond's  life;  and  Humility  was 
proud  of  it,  not  jealous  at  all.  He  forgot  all  the 
struggle,  all  the  slights,  all  the  grip  of  poverty. 
To  him  those  years  had  become  an  heroic  age, 
and  men  Homeric  men.  And  so  he  made  them 
appear  to  Taffy,  to  whom  it  was  wonderful 
that  his  father  should  have  moved  among  such 
giants. 

"  And  shall  I  go  there  too?  " 

Humility  glanced  up  quickly,  and  met  her  hus- 
band's eyes. 

"  Some  day,  please  God !  "  she  said.    Mr.  Ray- 

72 


GEOEGE 

mond  stared  at  the  embers  of  wreck-wood  on  the 
hearth. 

Erom  that  night  Oxford  became  the  main 
scene  of  Taffy's  imaginings;  a  wholly  fictitious 
Oxford,  pieced  together  of  odds  and  ends  from 
picture-books,  and  peopled  with  all  the  old  heroes. 
And  so,  with  contests  on  the  models  of  the  Fifth 
-^neid,  the  story  went  forward  gallantly  for 
many  months. 

But  the  afternoons  were  long;  and  at  times 
the  interminable  sand-hills  and  everlasting  roar  of 
the  sea  oppressed  the  child  with  a  sense  of  loneli- 
ness beyond  words.  The  rabbits  and  gulls  would 
not  make  friends  with  him,  and  he  ached  for  com- 
panionship. Of  that  ache  was  born  his  half -crazy 
adoration  of  George  Vyell.  There  were  hours 
when  he  lay  in  some  nook  of  the  towans,  peering 
into  the  ground,  seeing  pictures  in  the  sand — pict- 
ures of  men  and  regiments  and  battles,  shifting 
with  the  restless  drift;  until,  unable  to  bear  it,  he 
flung  out  his  hands  to  efface  them,  and  hid  his 
face  in  the  sand,  sobbing,  "  George!  George!  " 

At  night  he  would  creep  out  of  bed  to  watch 

the  light-house  winking  away  in  the  northeast. 

George  lived  somewhere  beyond.     And  again  it 

would  be  "  George!    George!  " 

73 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

'  And  when  the  happy  mornings  came,  and 
George  with  them,  Taffy  was  as  shy  as  a  lover. 
So  George  never  guessed.  It  might  have  sur- 
prised that  very  careless  young  gentleman,  when 
he  looked  up  from  his  verbs  which  govern  the  da- 
tive, and  caught  Taffy's  eye,  could  he  have  seen 
himself  in  his  halo  there. 


U 


yiii 

THE   SQUIRE^S    SOUL 

Two  years  passed,  and  a  third  winter.  The 
church  was  now  well  on  its  way  to  restoration. 
The  roof  had  been  repaired,  the  defective  timbers 
removed  and  sound  ones  inserted,  the  south  wall 
strengthened  with  three  buttresses,  the  founda- 
tions on  that  side  examined  and  shored  up.  The 
old  Squire  did  not  halt  here.  Furniture  arrived 
for  the  interior;  a  handsome  altar  cloth,  a  small 
gilt  cross,  a  dozen  hanging  lamps,  an  oaken  lec- 
tern, cushions,  hymn-books,  a  big  new  Bible  with 
purple  book-markers.  He  promised  to  take  out 
the  east  window — which  was  just  a  patch-work  of 
common  glass,  like  a  cucumber  frame — and  re- 
place it  with  sound  mullions  and  stained  glass,  in 
memory  of  his  only  daughter,  Honoria's  mother. 
She  had  run  away  from  Tredinnis  House,  and 
married  a  penniless  captain;  and  Honoria's  sur- 
name was  Callastair,  though  nobody  uttered  it  in 

the  old  man's  hearing.     Husband  and  wife  had 

75 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

died  in  India,  of  cholera,  within  three  years  of 
their  marriage;  and  the  old  man  had  sent  for  the 
child.  Having  relented  so  far,  he  went  on  to  do 
it  thoroughly,  in  his  own  fashion.  He  neglected 
Honoria;  but  she  might  have  anything  she  want- 
ed for  the  asking.  It  seemed,  though,  that  she 
wanted  very  little. 

He  allowed  Mr.  Raymond  to  choose  the  design 
for  this  window.  He  only  stipulated  that  the  sub- 
ject should  be  Jonah  and  the  whale.  "  There's 
no  story  '11  compare  with  it  for  trying  a  man's 
faith." 

When  the  window  came  and  was  erected  he 
complained  that  it  left  out  most  of  the  whale,  of 
which  the  jaws  and  one  wicked  little  red  eye  were 
all  that  appeared.  "  It  looks  half-hearted.  Why 
didn't  they  swim  en  all  in?  'Tis  neck  or  nothin' 
wi'  that  story;  but  they've  made  it  neck  and 
nothin'.    An'  after  coloring  en  violet  too !  " 

In  return  the  Vicar  had  hunted  up  some  county 
histories  and  heraldic  works  in  the  library  at  Tre- 
dinnis,  and  was  now  busy  re-emblazoning  with  his 
own  hand  the  devices  carved  on  the  Moyle  pew. 

Little   by    little,    too,   the   congregation    had 

grown.     The  people  came  shyly  at  first.     They 

mistrusted  the  Established  Church.     But  they 

76 


THE    SQUIRE'S    SOUL 

treated  the  Vicar  with  politeness  when  he  visited 
them.  And  seeing  him  so  awkward,  and  how 
with  all  his  book-learning  he  listened  to  their 
opinions  and  blushed  when  he  offered  any  small 
service,  they  grew  to  like  him,  being  shy  them- 
selves. They  pitied  him  too,  knowing  the  old 
Squire  better  than  he  did.  So  from  Sunday  to 
Sunday  Taffy,  pulling  at  his  rope  in  the  belfry, 
counted  the  new-comers,  and  Humility  talked 
about  them  on  the  way  home  and  at  dinner. 
They  were  fisher  folk  for  the  most  part;  the  men 
in  blue  guernseys  and  corduroy  trousers,  and 
some  with  curled  black  beards  and  rings  in  their 
ears ;  the  women,  in  gayer  colors  than  you  see  in 
an  up-country  church;  a  southern-seeming  race, 
with  southern-sounding  names — Santo,  Jose, 
Hugo,  Bennet,  Cara.  They  belonged — so  Mr. 
Raymond  often  told  himself — to  the  class  from 
which  Christ  called  His  Apostles.  Sometimes, 
scanning  an  olive-colored  face,  he  would  be  mind- 
ed of  the  Sea  of  Gennesareth;  and,  a  minute 
later,  the  sight  of  the  gray  coast-line  with  its 
whirled  spray  would  chill  the  fancy. 

The  congregation  always  lingered  outside  the 
porch  after  service;   and  then  one  would  say  to 

another:    "  Wall,  there's  more  in  the  man  than 

77 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

you'd  think.    See  you  up  to  meetin'  this  evenin', 
Is'pose?    So  long!" 

But  having  come  once,  they  came  again.  And 
the  family  at  the  Parsonage  were  full  of  hope, 
though  Taffy  longed  sometimes  for  a  play-fellow, 
and  sometimes  for  he  knew  not  what,  and  Humil- 
ity bent  over  her  lace-pillow  and  thought  of  green 
lanes  and  of  Beer  Village  and  women  at  work  by 
sunshiny  doorways;  and  wondered  if  their  faces 
had  changed. 

O,  that  I  were  where  I  would  be ! 

Then  would  I  be  where  I  am  not ; 
But  where  I  am,  there  I  must  be, 

And  where  I  would  be,  I  cannot. 

She  never  told  a  soul  of  her  home  thoughts. 
Her  husband  never  guessed  them.  But  Taffy 
(without  knowing  why),  whenever  this  verse 
from  his  old  play-book  came  into  his  head,  con- 
nected it  with  his  mother. 

But  the  old  Squire  was  getting  impatient.  He 
took  quite  a  feudal  view  of  the  saving  of  his  soul, 
and  would  have  dragged  the  whole  parish  to 
church  by  main  force,  had  it  been  possible. 

Late  one  afternoon,  Taffy  was  lying  in  one  of 
his  favorite  nooks  in  the  lee  of  the  towans,  when 
he  heard  voices  and  looked.     And  there  sat  the 

78 


THE    SQUIEE'S    SOUL 

old  gentleman  looking  down  on  him  from  horse- 
back, with  Bill  Udy  at  his  side.  The  Squire  was 
in  hunting  dress. 

"  What  be  doin'  down  there  ?  "  he  asked. 
"Praying?" 

"  No,  sir." 

"  I  wish  you  would.  I  wish  you'd  pray  for  me. 
I've  heerd  that  a  child'll  do  good  sometimes  when 
grown  folk  can't.  I  doubt  your  father  isn't  goin' 
to  do  the  good  I  looked  for  from  en.  He  don't 
believe  in  sudden  conversion.  Here,  Bill,  take 
the  mare  and  lead  her  home." 

He  dismounted,  and  seated  himself  with  a 
groan  on  the  edge  of  the  sand-pit. 

"  Look  here ;  I've  got  convictions  of  sin,  but  I 
can't  get  no  forrader.    What's  to  be  done?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  Taffy  stammered,  with  his 
eyes  on  the  Squire's  spurs. 

"  You  can  pray  for  me,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Well,  do  it.  Do  it  to-night.  I've  got  con- 
victions, boy;  but  my  heart's  like  a  stone.  I've 
had  a  wisht  day  of  it.  If  the  weather  holds  back, 
we'll  kill  a  May  fox  this  year.  But  where's  the 
comfort?  All  the  time  to-day  'twas  '  Lippety- 
lop,  no  peace  for  the  wicked!     Lippety-lop,  no 

79 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

peace  for  the  wicked!^  I  couldn't  stand  it;  I 
came  away.    You'll  do  it,  won't  'ee?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Is  your  father  at  home?  I'll  call  an'  speak 
to  en.  He  does  me  good ;  but  he  can't  melt  what 
I  carry  here." 

He  tapped  his  breast  and,  rising,  without  an- 
other word,  strode  off  across  the  sand-hills,  with 
his  head  down  and  hands  clasped  beneath  his 
coat-tails,  which  flapped  in  the  wind  as  he  went. 

Taffy  ran  and  overtook  Bill  Udy  and  the  mare. 

"  He's  in  a  wisht  poor  state,  id'n  a'?  "  said  Bill 

Udy,  who  was  parish  clerk.    "  Bless  'ee,  tidn'  no 

manner  of  use.    His  father  before  en  was  took  in 

just  the  same  way.    Turned  religious  late  in  life. 

What  d'  'ee  think  he  did  ?    Got  his  men  together 

one  Sunday  mornin',  marched  em  up  to  Meetiu' 

house,  up  to  Four  Turnin's  ;    slipped  his  ridin' 

crop  through  the  haps  o'  the  door,  an'  '  jSTow,  my 

Billies,'  says  he,  through  the  key-hole,  '  Not  a 

man  or  woman  of  'ee  leaves  the  place  till  you've 

said  that  Amazin'  Creed.    Come  along,'  he  says, 

^  \Yliosoever  will  he  saved,  an'  the  sooner  'tis 

over,  the  sooner  you  gets  home  to  dinner.'    A  fine 

talk  there  was!     Squire,  he's  just  such  another. 

Funny  things  he've  a-done.    Married  a  poor  soul 

80 


THE    SQUIRE'S    SOUL 

from  Roseland  way — a  Miss  Trevanion — quite  a 
bettermost  lady.  When  Miss  Susannah  was  born 
— that's  Miss  Honoria's  mother — she  went  to  be 
churched.  What  must  he  do,  to  show  he's  an- 
noyance that  'twasn't  a  boy,  but  drive  a  she-ass 
into  church  ?  Very  stiff  behavior.  He  drove  the 
beast  right  fore  an'  into  the  big  pew.  The  Moyles, 
you  see,  've  got  a  mule  for  their  shield  of 
arms.  He've  had  his  own  way  too  much;  that's 
of  it. 

"  One  day  he  dropped  into  church  just  before 
sarmon-time.  There  was  a  rabbit  squattin'  out- 
side 'pon  his  father's  tombstone.  Squire  crep' 
up  an'  clapped  his  Sunday  hat  'pon  top  of  en. 
Took  en  into  church.  One  o'  the  curate  chaps 
was  preachin' — a  timorous  little  fellah.  By  'n 
by  Squire  slips  out  his  rabbit.  '  Wirroo,  boys ! 
Coorse  en,  coorse  en — we'll  have  en  for  dinner ! ' 
Aw,  a  pretty  dido !  The  curate  fellah  ran  out  to 
door  an'  the  rabbit  after  en.  Folks  did  say  the 
rabbit  was  the  old  Squire's  soul,  an'  that  he'd 
turned  black  inside  the  young  Squire's  hat.  Very 
stiff  behavior. 

"He've  had  his  own  way  too  much;  that's 
what  it  is.  When  he  was  pricked  for  sheriff,  he 
hired  a  ramshackle  po'shay,  painted  a  mule  'pon 

81 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

the  panel,  an'  stuffed  the  footmen's  stockings 
with  bran  till  it  looked  a  case  of  dropsy.  He  was 
annoyed  at  bein'  put  to  the  expense.  The  judge 
lost  his  temper  at  bein'  met  in  such  a  way,  an' 
pitched  into  en  in  open  court,  specially  about  the 
mule.  He  didn't  know  'twas  the  Squire's  shield 
of  arms.  Squire  stood  it  for  some  time;  but  at 
last  he  ups  an'  says, '  If  you  was  an  old  woman  of 
mine,  I'd  dress  'ee  different;  an'  if  you  was  an 
old  woman  of  mine  an'  kep  scolding  like  that,  I'd 
have  'ee  in  the  duckin'-stool  for  your  sauce ! '  He 
almost  went  to  gaol  for  that.  But  they  put  it  on 
the  ground  the  judge  had  insulted  his  shield-of- 
arms,  an'  so  he  got  off. 

"  Well,  wish — 'ee — well!  Don't  you  trouble 
about  he.  He've  had  his  own  way  too  much,  but 
he  won't  get  it  this  time." 

That  night  Taffy  dreamed  that  he  met  Squire 
Moyle  walking  along  the  shore;  but  the  sand 
clogged  him,  and  his  spurs  sank  in  it  and  his  rid- 
ing-boots. "When  he  was  ankle  deep  he  began  to 
call  out,  "  Pray  for  me!  "  Then  Taffy  saw  a 
black  rabbit  running  on  the  firm  sand  to  the 
breakers;  and  the  Squire  cried  "Pray  for  me! 
I  must  catch  en !    'Tis  my  father's  soul  running 

off!  "  and  put  his  hand  into  his  breast  and  drew 

82 


THE    SQUIEE'S    SOUL 

out  a  stone  and  flung  it.  But  the  stone,  as  soon 
as  it  touched  the  sand,  turned  into  another  rab- 
bit, and  the  pair  ran  off  together  along  the  shore. 
The  old  man  tried  to  follow,  but  the  sand  held 
him;  and  tide  was  rising. 


83 


IX 


ENTER    THE    KING's    POSTMAN 


A  faint  south  wind  murmured  beneath  the 
eaves.  It  died  away,  and  for  an  hour  there  was 
peace  on  the  towans.  Then  the  sands  began  to 
trickle  again,  and  the  rushes  to  whisper  and  bend 
away  from  the  sea,  toward  the  high  moors  over 
which  the  gulls  had  flown  yesterday  and  disap- 
peared. By  and  by  a  spit  or  two  of  rain  came 
flying  out  of  the  black  northwest.  The  drops  fell 
in  the  path  of  the  sand,  but  the  sand  drove  over 
and  covered  them,  racing  faster  and  faster. 

Day  rose,  and  Taffy  awoke.    The  house  walls 

were  shaking.    "With  each  blow  the  wind  ran  up  a 

scale  of  notes  and  ended  with  a  howl.    He  looked 

out.    Sea  and  sky  had  melted  into  one;  only  now 

and  then  the  white  surf  line  heaved  into  sight, 

and  melted  back  into  gray.     After  breakfast  he 

and  his  father  started  to  battle  their  way  to  Tre- 

dinnis  House,   while  Humility   barricaded  the 

84 


ENTER    THE    KING'S    POSTMAN 

door  behind  them.  Taffy  wore  a  suit  of  oilers, 
of  which  he  was  mightily  proud. 

They  made  their  way  under  the  lee  of  the 
towans  to  escape  the  stinging  sand.  Within  Tre- 
dinnis  Gates  they  found  a  couple  of  pine-trees 
blown  down  across  the  road,  and  scrambled  over 
their  trunks.  Before  lessons,  Taffy  boasted  a  lot 
of  his  journey,  to  Honoria,  and  almost  forgot  to 
be  sorry  that  George  did  not  appear,  though  it 
was  Wednesday. 

They  had  no  trouble  in  reaching  home.  The 
gale  hurled  them  along.  Taffy,  leaning  his  back 
against  it,  could  scarcely  feel  his  feet  touching 
ground.  Humility  unfastened  the  door,  looking 
white  and  anxious.  Before  they  could  close  it 
again,  the  wind  swept  a  big  dish  off  the  dresser 
with  a  crash. 

Taffy  slept  soundly  that  night.  He  did  not 
hear  a  knocking  which  sounded  on  the  house- 
door,  soon  after  eleven  o'clock.  The  man  who 
knocked  came  from  Tresedder,  one  of  the  moor- 
farms.  "  Oh,  sir!  did  'ee  see  the  rockets  go  up 
over  Innis  ?  There'll  be  dead  men  down  'pon  the 
Island  rocks." 

Taffy  slept  on.     When  he  came  downstairs, 

next  morning,  there  was  a  stranger  in  the  kitchen 

85 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

— a  little  old  man,  huddled  in  a  blanket  before 
the  great  fireplace,  where  a  line  of  clothes  hung 
drying.  Humility  was  stooping  to  wedge  a  sand- 
bag under  the  door.  She  looked  up  at  Taffy  with 
a  wan  little  smile. 

"  There  has  been  a  wreck,"  she  said. 

"  Glory  be !  "  exclaimed  the  stranger  from  the 
fireplace. 

Taffy  glanced  at  him,  but  could  see  little 
more  than  the  back  of  a  bald  head  above  the 
blankets. 

"  Where's  the  ship?  "  he  asked. 

"  Gone,"  answered  the  Vicar,  coming  at  that 
moment  from  the  inner  room  where  his  books 
were.  "  She  must  have  broken  up  in  less  than 
ten  minutes  after  she  struck  the  Island — parted 
and  gone  down  in  six  fathoms  of  water." 

"  And  the  men?  Was  father  there?  "  It  be- 
wildered Taffy  that  all  this  should  have  hap- 
pened while  he  was  sleeping. 

"  There  was  no  time  to  fix  the  rocket  appa- 
ratus. She  was  late  in  making  her  distress  sig- 
nals. But  I  doubt  if  anything  could  have  been 
done.    She  went  down  too  quickly." 

"  But "     Taffy's  gaze   wandered   to   the 

bald  head. 

8G 


ENTER    THE    KING'S    POSTMAN 

"  He  was  washed  clean  over  the  ridge  where 
she  struck,  and  swept  into  Innis  Pool — one  big 
wave  carried  him  into  safety — one  man  out  of 
six." 

"  Hallelujah !  "  cried  the  rescued  man  facing 
round  in  his  chair.  "  Might  ha'  been  scat  like  an 
eggshell,  and  here  I  be  shoutin'  praises !  "  Taffy 
saw  that  he  was  a  clean-shaven  little  fellow,  with 
puckered  cheeks  and  two  wisps  of  gray  hair  curl- 
ing forward  from  his  ears. 

Mr.  Raymond  frowned.  "  I  am  sure,"  said  he, 
"  you  ought  not  to  be  talking  so  much." 

"  I  will  sing  and  give  praise,  sir,  beggin'  your 
pardon,  with  the  best  member  that  I  have.  Who 
is  weak,  and  I  am  not  weak?  Who  is  offended 
and  I  burn  not?    Hallelujah!    A-men!  " 

He  took  his  basin  of  bread  and  milk  from  Hu- 
mility's hand,  and  ate  by  the  fire.  She  had 
wrung  his  clothes  through  fresh  water,  and  as 
soon  as  they  were  thoroughly  dry  he  retired  up- 
stairs to  change.  He  came  back  to  his  seat  by 
the  fire. 

"  Now,  I  be  like  'Possel  Paul,"  he  said,  rub- 
bing his  hands,  and  stretching  them  out  to  the 
blaze.     "  After  his  shipwreck,  you  know,  when 

the  folks  'pon  the  island  showed  en  kindness. 

87 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

This  is  the  Lord's  doing,  and  it  is  marvellous  in 
your  eyes. 

Not  fearing  nor  doubting, 
With  Christ  by  my  side, 
I  hopes  to  die  shouting, 
The  Lord  will  provide." 

Humility  thought  that  for  certain  the  ship- 
wreck had  turned  his  head. 

"  But  where  do  you  come  from?  "  she  asked. 

"  They  call  me  Jacky  Pascoe,  ma'am ;  but  I 
calls  myself  the  King's  Postman — 

Jack  Paseoe  is  my  name, 

Wendron  is  my  nation, 
Nowhere  is  my  dwelling-place, 

For  Christ  is  my  salvation. — 

I  was  brought  to  a  miner,  ovey  to  Wheal  Jewel, 
in  Illogan  Parish;  but  got  conversion  fifteen 
years  since,  an'  now  I  go  about  praising  the 
Name.  I've  been  miner,  cafender,  cooper, 
mason,  seaman,  scissor-grinder,  umbrella-mender, 
hollibubber,  all  by  turns.  I  sticks  my  hands  in 
my  pockets,  an'  waits  on  the  Lord;  an'  what  He 
tells  me  to  do,  I  do.  This  day  week  I  was  up  to 
Fowey,  working  on  the  tip.*  There  was  a  little 
schooner  there,  the  Garibaldi,  of  Newport,  dis- 

•  Loading  vessels  from  the  jetties. 
88 


ENTER    THE    KING'S    POSTMAN 

charging  coal.  The  Lord  said  to  me,  '  Arise,  go 
in  that  there  schooner  I  '  I  sought  out  the  skip- 
per, and  said,  '  Where  be  bound  for  next?  Back 
to  Newport,'  says  he.  '  That'll  suit  me,'  I  says, 
an'  persuaded  en  to  take  me.  But  the  Lord  knew 
where  she  were  bound,  better'n  the  skipper ;  and 
here  I  be!" 

It  seemed  to  his  hearers  that  this  man  took 
little  thought  of  his  drowned  shipmates.  Mr. 
Raymond  looked  up  as  he  strapped  his  books  to- 
gether. 

"  You  were  not  the  only  man  in  that  schoon- 
er," he  said,  rather  severely. 

"  Glory  be !    Who  be  I,  to  question  the  Lord's 

ways?    One  day  I  picked  up  a  map  an'  seed  a 

place  on  it  called  '  Little  Sins.'     '  Little  Sins 

wants  great  Deliverance,'  says  I,  an'  I  started 

clane  off  an'  walked  to  the  place,  though  I'd 

never  so  much  as  heard  of  it  till  then.     'Twas 

harvest-time  there,  an'  I  danced  into  the  field, 

shouting  '  Glory,  glory !     The  harvest  is  plenty, 

but  the  laborers  be  few !  '    The  farmer  was  moved 

to  give  me  a  job  'pon  the  spot.    I  bided  there  two 

year,  an'  built  them  a  chapel  an'  preached  the 

Word  in  it.    They  offered  me  money  to  stop  an' 

preach;   and  I  laid  it  before  the  Lord.    But  He 

89 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

said,  '  You're  the  King's  Postman.  Keep  mov- 
ing, keep  on  moving!  '  I've  built  two  more 
chapels  since  then." 

Late  that  afternoon,  three  bodies  were  recov- 
ered from  the  sea — the  captain,  the  mate,  and  a 
boy  of  about  sixteen;  and  were  buried  in  the 
church-yard  next  day,  as  soon  as  the  inquest  was 
over.  Pascoe  followed  the  coffins,  and  pointed 
the  service  at  the  grave-side  with  inter jaculations 
of  his  own.  ''Glory  be!"  "A-men!"  "Hal- 
lelujah! "  "  Great  Redemption!  "  To  the  Vic- 
ar's surprise,  the  small  crowd,  after  a  minute, 
began  to  follow  the  man's  lead,  until  at  length  he 
could  scarcely  read  for  these  interruptions. 

At  supper  that  night  Pascoe  sprang  a  question 
on  the  Vicar. 

"  Be  you  convarted? "  he  asked,  looking  up, 
with  his  mouth  full  of  bread  and  cheese. 

"  I  hope  so." 

"Aw,  you  hopes!  'Tis  a  bad  case  with  'ee, 
then.  When  a  man's  convarted,  he  knows. 
Seemin'  to  me,  vou  baint.  You  don't  show 
enough  of  the  bright  side.  Now,  as  I  go  along, 
my  very  toes  keep  ticking  salvation.  Down  goes 
one  foot,  '  Glory  be !  '  Down  goes  the  other, 
'  A-men,'  Aw!    I  must  dance  for  joy!" 

90 


ENTER    THE    KING'S    POSTMAN 

He  got  up  and  danced  around  the  kitchen. 

"  I  wish  the  man  would  go,"  Humility  thought 
to  herself. 

His  very  next  words  answered  her  wish. 

"  I'll  be  leavin'  to-morrow,  friends.  I've  got 
a  room  down  to  the  village,  an'  I've  borreyed  a 
razor.  I'm  goin'  to  tramp  round  the  mines  at  the 
back  here,  an'  shave  the  miners  at  a  ha'penny  a 
chin.  That'll  pay  my  way.  There's  a  new 
preacher  planned  to  the  Bible  Christians,  down 
to  Innis,  an'  I'm  goin'  to  help  he.  My  dears, 
don't  'ee  tell  me  the  Lord  didn'  know  what  He 
was  about  when  He  cast  the  Garibaldi  ashore !  " 

He  left  the  Parsonage  next  day.  "  Ma'am," 
he  said  to  Humility,  on  leaving,  "  I  salute  this 
here  house.  Peace  be  on  this  here  house,  for  it  is 
worthy.  He  that  receiveth  a  prophet  in  the  name 
of  a  prophet,  shall  receive  a  prophet's  reward." 

Two  mornings  later,  Taffy,  looking  out  from 
his  bed-room  window  soon  after  daybreak,  saw 
the  prophet  trudging  along  the  road.  He  had  a 
clean  white  bag  slung  across  his  shoulder;  it  car- 
ried his  soap  and  razors,  no  doubt.  And  every 
now  and  then  he  waved  his  walking-stick  and 
skipped  as  he  went. 


91 


A    HAPPY    DAY 

A  volley  of  sand  darkened  and  shook  the  pane. 
Taffy,  sponging  himself  in  his  tub  and  singing 
between  his  gasps,  looked  up  hastily,  then  flung 
a  big  towel  about  him  and  ran  to  the  window. 

Honoria  was  standing  below,  and  Comedy,  her 
gray  pony,  with  a  creel  and  a  couple  of  fishing- 
rods  strapped  to  his  canvas  girth. 

"  Wake  up!    I've  come  to  take  you  fishing." 

Mr.  Raymond  had  started  off  at  daybreak  to 
walk  to  Truro  on  business;  so  there  would  be  no 
lessons  that  morning,  and  Taffy  had  been  looking 
forward  to  a  lonely  whole  holiday. 

"  I've  brought  two  pasties,"  said  Honoria, 
"  and  a  bottle  of  milk.  We'll  go  over  to  George's 
country  and  catch  trout.  He  is  to  meet  us  at 
Vellingey  Bridge.  We  arranged  it  all  yesterday, 
only  I  kept  it  for  a  surprise." 

Taffy  could  have  leapt  for  joy.  "  Go  in  and 
speak  to  mother,"  he  said,  "  she's  in  the  kitchen." 

Honoria  hitched   Comedy's   bridle   over   the 

92 


A  HAPPY    DAY 

gate,  walked  up  the  barren  little  garden,  and 
knocked  at  the  door.  When  Mrs.  Raymond 
opened  it  she  held  out  a  hand  politely. 

"  How  do  you  do?  "  she  said,  "  I  have  come  to 
ask  if  Taffy  may  go  fishing  with  me." 

Except  in  chursh,  and  outside  the  porch  for  a 
formal  word  or  two.  Humility  and  Honoria  had 
never  met.  This  was  Honoria's  first  visit  to  the 
Parsonage,  and  the  sight  of  the  clean  kitchen  and 
shining  pots  and  pans  filled  her  with  wonder. 
Humility  shook  hands  and  made  a  silent  note  of 
the  child's  frock,  which  was  torn  and  wanted 
brushing. 

"  He  may  go,  and  tliank  you.  It's  lonely  for 
him  here,  very  often." 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Honoria  gravely,  "  I  ought 

to  have  called  before.     I  wish "     She  was 

about  to  say  that  she  wished  Humility  would 
come  to  Tredinnis  House.  But  her  eyes  wan- 
dered to  the  orderly  dresser  and  the  scalding-pans 
by  the  fireplace. 

'^  I  mean — if  Taffy  had  a  sister  it  would  be 
different." 

Humility  bent  to  lift  a  kettle  off  the  fire. 
When  she  faced  round  again,  her  eyes  were  smil- 
ing, though  her  lip  trembled  a  little. 

93 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"How  bright  you  keep  everything  here!" 
said  Ilonoria. 

"  There's  a  plenty  of  sand  to  scour  with;  it's 
bad  for  the  garden  though." 

"  Don't  you  grow  any  flowers?  " 

"  I  planted  a  few  pansies  the  first  year;  they 
came  from  my  home  up  in  Devonshire.  But  the 
sand  covered  them.  It  covers  everything."  She 
smiled,  and  asked  suddenly,  "  May  I  kiss  you?  " 

"  Of  course  you  may,"  said  Honoria.  But  she 
blushed  as  Humility  did  it,  and  they  both  laughed 
shyly. 

"Hullo!  "  cried  Taffy  from  the  foot  of  the 
stairs.  Honoria  moved  to  the  window.  She 
heard  the  boy  and  his  mother  laughing  and  mak- 
ing pretence  to  quarrel,  while  he  chose  the  brown- 
est of  the  hot  cakes  from  the  wood-ashes.  She 
stared  out  upon  Humility's  buried  pansies.  It 
was  strange — a  minute  back  she  had  felt  quite 
happy. 

Humility  set  them  off  and  watched  them  till 
they  disappeared  in  the  first  dip  of  the  towans; 
and  then  sat  down  in  the  empty  kitchen  and  wept 
a  little  before  carrying  up  her  mother's  breakfast. 

Ilonoria  rode  in  silence  for  the  first  mile ;   but 

Taffy  sang  and  whistled  by  turns  as  he  skipped 

91 


A  HAPPY    DAY 

alongside.  The  whole  world  flashed  and  glit- 
tered around  the  boy  and  girl;  the  white  gulls 
fishing,  the  swallows  chasing  one  another  across 
the  dunes,  the  lighthouse  on  the  distant  spit,  the 
whitewashed  mine-chimneys  on  the  ridge  beside 
the  shore.  Away  on  the  rises  of  the  moor  one 
hill-farm  laughed  to  another  in  a  steady  flame  of 
furze  blossom — laughed  with  a  tinkle  of  singing 
larks.  And  beyond  the  last  rise  lay  the  land  of 
wonders,  George's  country.  "  Hark !  "  Honoria 
reined  up.  "  Isn't  that  the  cuckoo?  "  Taffy 
listened.  Yes,  somewhere  among  the  hillocks 
seaward  its  note  was  dinning. 
"Count!" 

Cuckoo,  cherry-tree, 

Be  a  good  bird  and  tell  to  me 

How  many  years  before  I  die? 

"  Ninety-six !  "  Taffy  announced. 

"  Ninety-two,"  said  Honoria,  "  but  we  won't 
quarrel  about  it.    Happy  month  to  you !  " 

"Eh?" 

"  It  is  the  first  of  May.  Come  along;  perhaps 
we  shall  meet  the  Mayers,  though  we're  too  late,  I 
expect.    Hullo!  there's  a  miner — let's  ask  him." 

The  miner  came  upon  them  suddenly — foot- 
steps make  no  sound  among  the  towans ;  a  young 

95 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

man  in  a  suit  stained  orange-tawny,  with  a  tallow 
candle  stuck  with  a  lump  of  clay  in  the  brim  of 
his  hat,  and  a  striped  tulip  stuck  in  another  lump 
of  clay  at  the  back  and  nodding. 

"  Good-morning,  miss.  You've  come  a  day 
behind  the  fair." 

"  Is  the  Maying  over?  "  Honoria  asked. 

"  Iss,  fay.  I've  just  been  home  to  shift  my- 
self." 

He  walked  along  with  them  and  told  them  all 
about  it  in  the  friendliest  manner.  It  had  been 
a  grand  Maying — all  the  boys  and  girls  In  the 
parish — with  the  hal-an-tow,  of  course — such 
dancing!  Fine  and  tired  some  of  the  maids  must 
be — he  wouldn't  give  much  for  the  work  they'd 
do  to-day.  Two  May  mornings  in  one  year 
would  make  a  grass-captain  mad,  as  the  saying 
was.  But  there — 'twas  a  poor  spirit  that  never 
rejoiced. 

"  Which  do  you  belong  to?  "  Taffy  nodded 
toward  the  mine-chimneys  on  the  sky-line  high 
on  their  left,  which  hid  the  sea,  though  it  lay  less 
than  half  a  mile  away  and  the  roar  of  it  was  in 
their  ears — just  such  a  roar  as  the  train  makes 
when  rushing  through  a  tunnel. 

"  Bless  you,  I'm  a  tinner.    I  belong  to  Wheal 

96 


A  HAPPY    DAY 

Gooniver,  up  the  valley.  Wheal  Ylo  there,  'pon 
the  cliff,  he's  lead.  And  the  next  to  him.  Wheal 
Penhale,  he's  iron.  I  came  a  bit  out  of  my  way 
with  you  for  company." 

Soon  after  parting  from  him  they  crossed  the 
valley-stream  (Taffy  had  to  wade  it),  and  here 
they  happened  on  a  dozen  tall  girls  at  work 
"  spalling  "  the  tin-ore,  but  not  busy.  The  most 
of  them  leaned  on  their  hammers,  or  stood  with 
hands  on  hips,  their  laughter  drowning  the  thud, 
thud,  of  the  engine-house  and  the  rattle  of  the 
stamps  up  the  valley.  And  the  cause  of  it  all 
seemed  to  be  a  smaller  girl  who  stood  by  with 
a  basket  in  her  arms. 

"  Here  you  be,  Lizzie!  "  cried  one.  "  Here's 
a  young  lady  and  gentleman  coming  with  money 
in  their  pockets." 

Lizzie  turned.  She  was  a  child  of  fourteen, 
perhaps;  brown  skinned,  with  shy,  wild  eyes. 
Her  stockings  were  torn,  her  ragged  clothes  dec- 
orated with  limp  bunches  of  bluebells,  and  her 
neck  and  wrists  with  twisted  daisy  chains.  She 
skipped  up  to  Honoria  and  held  out  a  basket. 
Within  it,  in  a  bed  of  fern,  lay  a  May-doll  among 
a  few  birds'  eggs — a  poor  wooden  thing  in  a  sin- 
gle garment  of  pink  calico. 

97 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

"  Give  me  something  for  my  doll,  miss!  "  she 
begged. 

"  Aw,  that's  too  tame,"  one  of  the  girls  called 
out,  and  pitched  her  voice  to  the  true  beggar's 
whine:  "  Spare  a  copper!  My  only  child,  dear 
kind  lady,  and  its  only  father  broke  his  tender 
neck  in  a  blasting  accident,  and  left  me  twelve  to 
maintain!  " 

All  the  girls  began  laughing  again.  Honoria 
did  not  laugh.    She  was  feeling  in  her  pocket. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Lizzie  Pezzack.  My  father  tends  the  light- 
house.   Give  me  something  for  my  doll,  miss !  '^ 

Ilonoria  held  out  a  half-crown  piece. 

"  Hand  it  to  me." 

The  child  did  not  understand.  "  Give  me 
something — "  she  began  again  in  her  dull,  level 
voice. 

Ilonoria  stamped  her  foot.  "  Give  it  to  me!  " 
She  snatched  up  the  doll  and  thrust  it  into  the 
fishing  creel,  tossed  the  coin  into  Lizzie's  basket, 
and,  taking  Comedy  by  the  bridle,  moved  up  the 
path. 

"  Slie've  adopted  en!"     They  laughed  and 

called  out  to  Lizzie  that  she  was  in  luck's  way. 

But  Taffy  saw  the  child's  face  as  she  stared  into 

98 


A  HAPPY    DAY 

the  empty  basket,  and  that  it  was  perplexed  and 
forlorn. 

"Why  did  you  do  that?"  he  asked,  as  he 
caught  up  with  Ilonoria.    She  did  not  answer. 

And  now  they  turned  away  from  the  sea,  and 
struck  a  high  road  which  took  them  between 
up-land  farms  and  across  the  ridge  of  cultivated 
land  to  a  valley  full  of  trees.  A  narrow  path  led 
inland  up  this  valley.  They  followed  it  under 
pale-green  shadows,  in  Indian  file,  the  pony  at 
Honoria's  heels,  and  Taffy  behind,  and  stepped 
out  into  sunlight  again  upon  a  heathery  moor, 
where  a  trout  stream  chattered  and  sparkled. 
And  there  by  a  granite  bridge  they  found  George 
fishing,  with  three  small  trout  shining  on  the  turf 
beside  him. 

This  was  a  day  which  Taffy  remembered  all  his 
life,  and  yet  most  confusedly.  Indeed  there  was 
little  to  remember  it  by — little  to  be  told — ex- 
cept that  all  the  while  the  stream  talked,  the  larks 
sang,  and  in  the  hollow  of  the  hills  three  chil- 
dren were  happy.  George  landed  half  a  dozen 
trout  before  lunch-time;  but  Taffy  caught  none, 
partly  because  he  knew  nothing  about  fishing, 
partly  because  the  chatter  of  the  stream  set  him 

telling  tales  to  himself,  and  he  forgot  the  rod  in 

99 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

his  hand.  And  Honoria,  after  hooking  a  tiny  fish 
and  throwing  it  back  into  the  water,  wandered 
off  in  search  of  larks'  nests.  She  came  slowly 
back  when  George  blew  a  whistle  announcing 
lunch. 

"  Hullo!  What's  this?  "  he  asked,  as  he  dived 
a  hand  into  her  creel.  "  Ugh!  a  doll!  I  say, 
Taffy,  let's  float  her  down  the  river.  What  hum- 
bug, Honoria!  " 

But  she  had  snatched  the  doll  and  crammed  it 
back  roughly  into  the  creel.  A  minute  later, 
when  they  were  not  looking,  she  lifted  the  lid 
again  and  disposed  the  poor  thing  more  gently. 

"  Why  don't  you  talk,  one  of  you  ?  "  George 
demanded,  with  his  mouth  full. 

Taffy  shook  himself  out  of  his  waking  dream 
— "  I  was  wondering  where  it  goes  to,"  he  said, 
and  nodded  toward  the  running  water. 

"  It  goes  down  to  Langona,"  said   George, 

"  and  that's  just  a  creek  full  of  sand,  with  a 

church  right  above  it  in  a  big  grass  meadow — 

the  queerest  small  church  you  ever  saw.     But 

I've  heard  my  father  tell  that  hundreds  of  years 

back  a  big  city  stood   there,   with  seven   fine 

churches,  and  quays,  and  deep  water  alongside 

and   above,   so   that  ships   could   sail   right   up 

100 


A  HAPPY    DAY 

to  the  ford.  They  came  from  all  parts  of  the 
world  for  tin  and  lead,  and  the  people  down  in 
the  city  had  nothing  to  do  but  sit  still  and  grow 
rich." 

"  Somebody  must  have  worked,"  interrupted 
Honoria;   "  on  the  buildings  and  all  that." 

"  The  building  was  done  by  convicts.  The 
story  is  that  convicts  were  transported  here  from 
all  over  the  kingdom." 

"  Did  they  live  in  the  city?  " 

"  No ;  they  had  a  kind  of  camp  across  the 
creek.  They  dug  out  the  harbor  too,  and  kept  it 
clear  of  sand.  You  can  still  see  the  marks  of 
their  pick-axes  along  the  cliffs;  I'll  show  them 
to  you,  some  day.  My  father  knows  all  about  it, 
because  his  great-great-great-great-grandfather 
(and  a  heap  more  '  greats,'  I  don't  know  how 
many)  was  the  only  one  saved  when  the  city  was 
buried." 

"  Was  he  from  the  city,  or  one  of  the  con- 
victs? "  asked  Honoria,  who  had  not  forgiven 
George's  assault  upon  her  doll. 

'*  He  was  a  baby  at  the  time,  and  couldn't  re- 
member," George  answered  with  fine  composure. 
"  They  say  he  was  found  high  up  the  creek,  just 

where  you  cross  it  by  the  foot-bridge.  The  bridge 

101 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

is  covered  at  high  water;  and  if  you  try  to  cross 
below,  especially  when  the  tide  is  flowing,  just 
you  look  out!  Twice  a  day  the  sands  become 
quick  there.  They've  swallowed  scores.  I'll  tell 
you  another  thing;  there's  a  bird  builds  some- 
where in  the  cliffs  there — a  crake,  the  people  call 
it — and  they  say  that  whenever  he  goes  crying 
about  the  sands,  it  means  that  a  man  will  be 
drowned  there." 

"  Rubbish !    I  don't  believe  in  your  city." 

"  Very  well,  then,  I'll  tell  you  something  else. 
The  fishermen  have  seen  it — five  or  six  of  them. 
You  know  the  kind  of  haze  that  gets  up  some- 
times on  hot  days,  when  the  sun's  drawing  water? 
They  say  that  if  you're  a  mile  or  two  out  and  this 
happens  between  you  and  Langona  Creek,  you 
can  see  the  city  quite  plain  above  the  shore,  with 
the  seven  churches  and  all." 

"  I  can  see  it!  "  Taffy  blurted  this  out  almost 
without  knowing  that  he  spoke;  and  blushed 
furiously  when  George  laughed.  "  I  mean — 
I'm  sure "  he  began  to  explain. 

"  If  you  can  see  it,"  said  Ilonoria,  "  you  had 

better  describe  George's  property  for  him."    She 

yawned.    "  He  can't  tell  the  story  himself — not 

one  little  bit." 

102 


A  HAPPY    DAY 

"  Right  you  are,  miss,"  George  agreed.  "  Fire 
ahead,  Taffy !  " 

Taffy  thought  for  a  minute,  and  then,  still  with 
a  red  face,  began.  "  It  is  all  true,  as  George  says. 
A  fine  city  lies  there,  covered  with  the  sands; 
and  this  was  what  happened.  The  King  of 
Langona  had  a  son,  a  handsome  young  Prince, 
who  lived  at  home  until  he  was  eighteen,  and 
then  went  on  his  travels.  That  was  the  custom, 
you  know.  The  Prince  took  only  his  foster- 
brother,  whose  name  was  John,  and  they  trav- 
elled for  three  years.  On  their  way  back,  as  they 
came  to  Langona  Creek,  they  saw  the  convicts  at 
work,  and  in  one  of  the  fields  was  a  girl  digging 
alone.  She  had  a  ring  round  her  ankle,  like  the 
rest,  with  a  chain  and  iron  weight,  but  she  was 
the  most  beautiful  girl  the  Prince  had  ever  seen. 
So  he  pulled  up  his  horse  and  asked  her  who  she 
was  and  how  she  came  to  be  wearing  the  chain. 
She  told  him  she  was  no  convict,  but  the  daughter 
of  a  convict,  and  it  was  the  law  for  the  convict's 
children  to  wear  these  things.  "  To-night,"  said 
the  Prince,  "  you  shall  wear  a  ring  of  gold  and  be 
a  Princess,"  and  he  commanded  John  to  file  away 
the  ring  and  take  her  upon  his  horse.    They  rode 

across  the  creek  and  came  to  the  palace ;  and  the 

103 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

Prince,  after  kissing  his  father  and  mother,  said, 
"  I  have  brought  you  all  kinds  of  presents  from 
abroad;  but  best  of  all  I  have  brought  home  a 
bride."  His  parents,  who  wondered  at  her 
beauty  and  never  doubted  but  that  she  must  be  a 
King's  daughter,  were  full  of  joy  and  set  the  bells 
ringing  in  all  the  seven  churches.  So  for  a  year 
everybody  was  happy,  and  at  the  end  of  time  a 
son  was  bom. 

"  You're  making  it  up,"  said  Honoria.  Taffy's 
own  stories  always  puzzled  her,  with  hints  and 
echoes  from  other  stories  she  half-remembered, 
but  could  seldom  trace  home.  He  had  too  cun- 
ning a  gift. 

George  said,  "  Do  be  quiet !  Of  course  he's 
making  it  up,  but  who  wants  to  know  that  ?  " 

"  Two  days  afterward,"  Taffy  went  on,  "  the 
Prince  was  out  hunting  with  his  foster-brother. 
The  Princess  in  her  bed  at  home  complained  to 
her  mother-in-law,  *  Mother,  my  feet  are  cold. 
Bring  me  another  rug  to  wrap  them  in.'  The 
Queen  did  so,  but  as  she  covered  the  Princess's 
feet  she  saw  the  red  mark  left  by  the  ankle  ring, 
and  knew  that  her  son's  wife  was  no  true  Prin- 
cess, but  a  convict's  daughter.  And  full  of  rage 
and  shame  she  went  away  and  mixed  two  cups. 

104 


A  HAPPY    DAY 

The  first  she  gave  to  the  Princess  to  drink ;  and 
when  it  had  killed  her  (for  it  was  poison)  she 
dipped  a  finger  into  the  dregs  and  rubbed  it  in- 
side the  child's  lips,  and  very  soon  he  was  dead 
too.  Then  she  sent  for  two  ankle-chains  and 
weights — one  larger  and  one  very  small — and 
fitted  them  on  the  two  bodies  and  had  them  flung 
into  the  creek.  When  the  Prince  came  home  he 
asked  after  his  wife.  '  She  is  sleeping/  said  the 
Queen,  '  and  you  must  be  thirsty  with  hunting? ' 
She  held  out  the  second  cup  and  the  Prince  drank 
and  passed  it  to  John,  who  drank  also.  ]!^ow  in 
this  cup  was  a  drug  which  took  away  all  memory. 
And  at  once  the  Prince  forgot  all  about  his  wife 
and  child;  and  John  forgot  too. 

"  For  weeks  after  this  the  Prince  complained 
that  he  felt  unwell.  He  told  the  doctors  that 
there  was  an  empty  place  in  his  head,  and  they 
advised  him  to  fill  it  by  travelling.  So  he  set  out 
again,  and  John  went  with  him  as  before.  On 
their  journey  they  stayed  for  a  week  with  the 
King  of  Spain,  and  there  the  Prince  fell  in  love 
with  the  King  of  Spain's  daughter,  and  married 
her  and  brought  her  home  at  the  end  of  a  year, 
during  which  she  too  had  brought  him  a  son. 

"  The    night    after   their    return,    when    the 

105 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

Prince  and  his  second  wife  slept,  John  kept  watch 
outside  the  door.  About  midnight  he  heard  the 
noise  of  a  chair  dragging,  but  very  softly,  and  up 
the  stairs  came  a  lady  in  white  with  a  child  in  her 
arms.  John  knew  his  former  mistress  at  once, 
and  all  his  memory  came  back  to  him,  but  she 
put  a  finger  to  her  lips  and  went  past  him  into 
the  bed-chamber.  She  went  to  the  bed,  laid  a 
hand  on  her  husband's  pillow,  and  whispered : 

Wife  and  babe  below  the  river ; 

Twice  will  I  come  and  then  come  never. 

Without  another  word  she  turned  and  went  slow- 
ly past  John  and  down  the  stairs." 

"  I  know  that,  anyhow,"  Honoria  interrupted. 
"  That's  '  East  of  the  Sun  and  West  of  the 
Moon,'  or  else  it's  the  Princess  whose  brother  was 

changed  into  a  Roebuck,   or   else "     But 

George  flicked  a  pebble  at  her,  and  Taffy  went 
on,  warming  more  and  more  to  the  story. 

*'  In  the  morning,  when  the  Prince  woke,  his 
second  wife  saw  his  pillow  on  the  side  farthest 
from  her,  and  it  was  wet.  '  Husband,'  she  said, 
'  you  have  been  weeping  to-night.'  '  Well,'  said 
he,  '  that  is  queer,  for  I  haven't  wept  since  I  was 
a  boy.    It's  true,  though,  that  I  had  a  miserable 

106 


A  HAPPY    DAY 

dream.'  But  when  lie  tried  to  remember  it,  lie 
could  not. 

"  The  same  thing  happened  on  the  second 
night,  only  the  dead  wife  said : 

Wife  and  babe  below  the  river, 

Once  will  I  come  and  then  come  never. 

And  again  in  the  morning  there  was  a  mark  on 
the  pillow  where  her  wet  hand  had  rested.  But 
the  Prince  in  the  morning  could  remember  noth- 
ing.   On  the  third  night  she  came  and  said : 

Wife  and  babe  below  the  river, 
Now  I  am  gone  and  gone  forever, 

and  went  down  the  stairs  with  such  a  reproachful 
look  at  John  that  his  heart  melted  and  he  ran 
after  her.  But  at  the  outer  door  a  flash  of  light- 
ning met  him  and  such  a  storm  broke  over  the 
palace  and  city  as  had  never  been  before  and 
never  will  be  again. 

"  John  heard  screams,  and  the  noise  of  doors 
banging  and  feet  running  throughout  the  palace ; 
he  turned  back  and  met  the  Prince,  his  master, 
coming  down-stairs  with  his  child  in  his  arms. 
The  lightning  flash  had  killed  his  second  wife 
where  she  lay.     John  followed  him  out  into  the 

107 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

streets,  where  the  people  were  running  to  and  fro, 
and  through  the  whiuling  sand  to  the  ford  which 
crossed  the  creek  a  mile  above  the  city.  And 
there,  as  they  stepped  into  the  water,  a  woman 
rose  before  John,  with  a  child  in  her  arms,  and 
said:  '  Carry  us.'  The  Prince,  who  was  leading, 
did  not  see.  John  took  them  on  his  back,  but 
they  were  heavy  because  of  the  iron  chains  and 
weights  on  their  ankles,  and  the  sands  sank  under 
him.  Then,  by  and  by,  the  Princess  put  her  child 
into  John's  arms,  and  said,  '  Save  him,'  and 
slipped  off  his  back  into  the  water.  '  What 
sound  was  that? '  asked  the  Prince.  '  That  was 
my  heart  cracking,'  said  John.  So  they  went  on 
till  the  sands  rose  half-way  to  their  knees.  Then 
the  Prince  stopped  and  put  his  child  into  John's 
arms.  '  Save  him,'  he  said,  and  fell  forward  on 
his  face;  and  John's  heart  cracked  again.  But 
he  went  forward  in  the  darkness  until  the  water 
rose  to  his  waist,  and  the  sand  to  his  knees.  He 
was  close  to  the  farther  shore  now,  but  could  not 
reach  it  unless  he  dropped  one  of  the  children; 
and  this  he  would  not  do.  He  bent  forward, 
holding  out  one  in  each  arm,  and  could  just  man- 
age to  push  them  up  the  bank  and  prop  them 
there  with  his  open  hands;    and  while  he  bent, 

108 


A    HAPPY    DAY 

tlie  tide  rose  and  his  heart  cracked  for  the  third 
time.  Though  he  was  dead,  his  stiff  arms  kept 
the  children  propped  against  the  bank.  But  just 
at  the  turning  of  the  tide  the  one  with  the  ankle- 
weight  slipped  and  was  drowned.  The  other  was 
found  next  morning  by  the  inland  people,  high 
and  dry.  And  some  do  say,"  Taffy  wound  up, 
"  that  his  brother  was  not  really  drowned,  but 
turned  into  a  bird,  and  that,  though  no  one  has 
seen  him,  it  is  his  voice  that  gives  the  '  crake,' 
imitating  the  sound  made  by  John's  heart  when 
it  burst ;  but  others  say  it  comes  from  John  him- 
self, down  there  below  the  sands." 

There  was  silence  for  a  minute.  Even  Hon- 
oria  had  grown  excited  toward  the  end. 

"  But  it  was  unfair!  "  she  broke  out.  "  It 
ought  to  have  been  the  convict-child  that  was 
saved." 

"  If  so,  I  shouldn't  be  here,"  said  George; 
"  and  it's  not  very  nice  of  you  to  say  it." 

"  I  don't  care.  It  was  unfair;  and  anyone  but 
a  boy  " — with  scorn — "  would  see  it."  She 
turned  upon  the  staring  Taffy — "  I  hate  your 
tale;  it  was  horrid." 

She  repeated  it,  that  evening,  as  they  turned 

their  faces  homeward  across  the  heathery  moor. 

109 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

Taffy  had  halted  on  the  top  of  a  hillock  to  wave 
good-night  to  George.  For  years  he  remembered 
the  scene — the  brown  hollow  of  the  hills;  the 
clear  evening  sky,  with  the  faint  purple  arch, 
which  is  the  shadow  of  the  world,  climbing 
higher  and  higher  upon  it;  and  his  own  shadow 
stretching  back  with  his  heart  toward  George, 
who  stood  fronting  the  level  rays  and  waved  his 
glittering  catch  of  fish. 

"  What  was  that  you  said? "  he  asked,  when 
at  length  he  tore  himself  away  and  caught  up 
with  Honoria. 

"  That  was  a  horrid  story  you  told.  It  spoiled 
my  afternoon,  and  I'll  trouble  you  not  to  tell  any 
more  of  the  sort." 


110 


XI 


LIZZIE    REDEEMS    HER    DOLL    AND    HONOEIA 
THROWS    A    STONE 

A  broad  terrace  ran  along  the  southern  front 
of  Tredinnis  House.  It  had  once  been  decorated 
with  leaden  statues,  but  of  these  only  the  pedes- 
tals remained. 

Honoria,  perched  on  the  terrace-wall,  with  her 
legs  dangling,  was  making  imaginary  casts  with 
a  trout-rod,  when  she  heard  footsteps.  A  child 
came  timidly  round  the  angle  of  the  big  house — 
Lizzie  Pezzack. 

"  Hullo!  What  do  you  want?  " 

"  If  you  please,  miss " 

"Well?" 

"  If  you  please,  miss " 

"  You've  said  that  twice." 

Lizzie  held  out  a  grubby  palm  with  a  half- 
crown  in  it :  "  I  wants  my  doll  back,  if  you  please, 
miss." 

"  But  you  sold  it." 

Ill 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  I  didn't  mean  to.    You  took  me  so  sudden." 

"  I  gave  you  ever  so  much  more  than  it  was 
worth.  Why,  I  don't  believe  it  cost  you  three 
ha'pence!  " 

"  Tuppence,"  said  Lizzie. 

"  Then  you  don't  know  when  you're  well  off. 
Go  away." 

"  'Tisn'  that,  miss " 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

Lizzie  broke  into  a  flood  of  tears. 

Honoria,  the  younger  by  a  year  or  so,  stood 
and  eyed  her  scornfully;  then  turning  on  her 
heel  marched  into  the  house. 

She  was  a  just  child.  She  went  upstairs  to  her 
bed-room,  unlocked  her  wardrobe,  and  took  out 
the  doll,  which  was  clad  in  blue  silk  and  reposed 
in  a  dog-trough  lined  with  the  same  material. 
Honoria  had  recklessly  cut  up  two  handkerchiefs 
(for  underclothing)  and  her  Sunday  sash,  and 
had  made  the  garments  In  secret.  They  were 
prodigies  of  bad  needlework.  With  the  face  of  a 
Medea  she  stripped  the  poor  thing,  took  it  in  her 
arms  as  if  to  kiss  it,  but  checked  herself  sternly. 
She  descended  to  the  terrace  with  the  doll  in  one 
hand  and  its  original  calico  smock  in  the  other. 

"  There,  take  your  twopenny  baby !  " 

112 


LIZZIE    EEDEEMS    HER    DOLL 

Lizzie  caught  and  strained  it  to  her  breast; 
covered  its  poor  nakedness  hurriedly  and  hugged 
it  again  with  passionate  kisses. 

"  You  silly!  Did  you  come  all  this  way  by 
yourself? " 

Lizzie  nodded.  "  Father  thinks  I'm  home, 
minding  house.  He's  off  duty  this  evening  and 
he  walked  over  here  to  the  Bryanite  Chapel,  up 
to  Four  Turnings.  There's  going  to  be  a  big 
Prayer  Meeting  to-night.  When  his  back  was 
turned  I  slipped  out  after  him,  so  as  to  keep  him 
in  sight  across  the  towans." 

"Why?" 

"  I'm  terrible  timid.  I  can't  bear  to  walk 
across  the  towans  by  myself.  You  can't  see 
where  you  be — they're  so  much  alike — and  it 
makes  a  person  feel  lost.  There's  so  many  bones, 
too." 

"  Dead  rabbits." 

"  Yes,  and  dead  folks,  I've  heard  father  say." 

"  Well,  you'll  have  to  go  back  alone,  any 
way." 

She  hugged  the  doll.    "  I  don't  mind  so  much, 

now.     I'll  keep  along  by  the  sea,  and  run,  and 

only  open  my  eyes  now  and  then.     Here's  your 

money,  miss." 

113 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

She  went  off  at  a  run.  Honoria  pocketed  the 
half-crown  and  went  back  to  her  fly-fishing.  But, 
after  a  few  casts,  she  desisted,  and  took  her  rod 
to  pieces,  slowly.  The  afternoon  was  hot  and  sul- 
try. She  sat  down  in  the  shadow  of  the  balus- 
trade and  gazed  at  the  long,  blank  fagade  of  the 
house,  baking  in  the  sun ;  at  the  tall,  uncurtained 
windows;  at  the  peacock  stalking  to  and  fro  like 
a  drowsy  sentinel. 

"  You  are  a  beast  of  a  house,"  she  said, 
contemplatively;  "  and  I  hate  every  stone  of 
you!" 

She  stood  up  and  strolled  toward  the  stables. 
The  stable-yard  was  empty  but  for  the  Gordon 
setter  dozing  by  the  pump-trough.  Across  from 
the  kitchens  came  the  sound  of  the  servants' 
voices  chattering.  Ilonoria  had  never  made 
friends  with  the  servants. 

She  tilted  her  straw  hat  farther  over  her  eyes, 
and  sauntered  up  the  drive  with  her  hands  be- 
hind her;  through  the  great  gates  and  out  upon 
the  towans.  She  had  started  with  no  particular 
purpose,  and  had  none  in  her  mind  when  she 
came  in  sight  of  the  Parsonage,  and  of  Humility 
seated  in  the  doorway,  with  her  lace  pillow  across 
her  knees. 


LIZZIE    REDEEMS    HER    DOLL 

It  had  been  the  custom  among  the  women  of 
Beer  Village  to  work  in  their  doorways  on  sunny 
afternoons,  and  Humility  followed  it. 

She  looked  up,  smiling.  "  Taffy  is  down  by 
the  shore,  I  think." 

"  I  didn't  come  to  look  for  him.  What  beauti- 
ful work!  " 

"  It  comes  in  handy.  Won't  you  step  inside, 
and  let  me  make  you  a  cup  of  tea?  " 

"  No,  I'll  sit  here  and  watch  you."  Humility 
pulled  in  her  skirts  and  Honoria  found  room  on 
the  doorstep  beside  her.  "  Please  don't  stop. 
It's  wonderful.  Now  I  know  where  Taffy  gets 
his  cleverness." 

"  You  are  quite  wrong.  This  is  only  a  knack. 
All  his  cleverness  comes  from  his  father." 

"  Oh,  books !  Of  course,  Mr.  Raymond  knows 
all  about  books.    He's  writing  one,  isn't  he  ?  " 

Mrs.  Raymond  nodded. 

"What  about?" 

"  It's  about  St.  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews; 
in  Greek,  you  know.  He  has  been  working  at  it 
for  years." 

"  And  he's  indoors  working  at  it  now?    What 

funny  things  men  do!  "      She   was  silent  for 

awhile,    watching   Humility's    bobbins.      "  But 

115 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

I  suppose  it  doesn't  matter  just  what  they  do. 
The  great  thing  is  to  do  it  better  than  anyone 
else.    Does  Mr.  Raymond  think  Taffy  clever?  " 

"  He  never  talks  about  it." 

"  But  he  thinks  so.  I  know ;  because  at  les- 
sons when  he  says  anything  to  Taffy  it's  quite 
different  from  the  way  he  talks  to  George  and  me. 
He  doesn't  favor  him,  of  course;  he's  too  much 
fair.  But  there's  a  difference.  It's  as  if  he  ex- 
pected Taffy  to  understand.  Did  Mr.  Raymond 
teach  him  all  those  stories  he  knows?  " 

"  What  stories?  " 

"  Fairy-tales  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

"  Good  gracious  me,  no!  " 

"  Then  you  must  have.  And  you  are  clever, 
after  all.  Asking  me  to  believe  you're  not,  and 
making  that  beautiful  lace  all  the  while,  under 
my  very  eyes !  " 

"  I'm  not  a  bit  clever.  Here's  the  pattern,  you 
see,  and  there's  the  thread,  and  the  rest  is  only 
practice.  I  couldn't  make  the  pattern  out  of  my 
head.    Besides,  I  don't  like  clever  women." 

"  A  woman  must  try  to  be  something."    Hon- 

oria  felt  that  this  was  vague,   but  wanted  to 

argue. 

"  A  woman  wants  to  be  loved,"  said  Mrs.  Ray- 

116 


LIZZIE    REDEEMS    HER    DOLL 

mond,  thoughtfully.  "  There's  such  a  heap  to  be 
done  about  the  house  that  she  won't  find  time  for 
much  else.  Besides,  if  she  has  children,  she'll  be 
planning  for  them." 

"  Isn't  that  rather  slow?  " 

Humility  wondered  where  the  child  had 
picked  up  the  word.  "  Slow?  "  she  echoed,  with 
her  eyes  on  the  horizon  beyond  the  dunes. 
"  Most  things  are  slow  when  you  look  forward  to 
them." 

"  But  these  fairy-tales  of  yours?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  about  them.  When  my  mother 
was  a  girl  of  sixteen,  she  went  into  service  as  a 
nurse-maid  in  a  clergyman's  family.  Every  even- 
ing the  clergyman  used  to  come  into  the  nursery 
and  tell  the  children  a  fairy-tale.  That's  how  it 
started.  My  mother  left  service  to  marry  a  farm- 
er— it  was  quite  a  grand  match  for  her — and 
when  I  was  a  baby  she  told  the  stories  to  me. 
She  has  a  wonderful  memory  still,  and  she  tells 
them  capitally.  When  I  listen,  I  believe  every 
word  of  them;  I  like  them  better  than  books, 
too,  because  they  always  end  happily.  But  I 
can't  repeat  them  a  bit.  As  soon  as  I  begin  they 
fall  to  pieces,   and  the  pieces  get  mixed   up, 

and,  worst  of  all,  the  life  goes  right  out  of  them. 

117 


THE    SHIP    OF    STABS 

But  Taffy,  lie  takes  the  pieces  and  puts  them  to- 
gether, and  the  tale  is  better  than  ever:  quite 
different,  and  new,  too.  That's  the  puzzle.  It's 
not  memory  with  him;  it's  something  else." 

"  But  don't  you  ever  make  up  a  story  of  your 
own?  "  Honoria  insisted. 

Now  you  might  talk  with  Mrs.  Raymond  for 
ten  minutes,  perhaps,  and  think  her  a  simpleton ; 
and  then  suddenly  a  cloud  (as  it  were)  parted, 
and  you  found  yourself  gazing  into  depths  of 
clear  and  beautiful  wisdom. 

She  turned  on  Honoria  with  a  shy,  adorable 
smile : 

"  Why,  of  course  I  do — about  Taffy.  Come 
in  and  let  me  show  you  his  room  and  his  books." 

An  hour  later  when  Taffy  returned  he  found 
Honoria  seated  at  the  table  and  his  mother  pour- 
ing tea.  They  said  nothing  about  their  visit  to 
his  room;  and  though  they  had  handled  every 
one  of  his  treasures,  he  never  discovered  it.  But 
he  did  notice — or  rather,  he  felt — that  the  two 
understood  each  other.  They  did:  and  it  was 
an  understanding  he  would  never  be  able  to 
share,  though  he  lived  to  be  a  hundred. 

Mr.  Raymond  came  out  from  his  study  and 

drank  his  tea  in  silence.     Honoria  observed  that 

118 


LIZZIE    REDEEMS    HEE    DOLL 

he  blinked  a  good  deal.  He  showed  no  surprise 
at  her  visit  and  after  a  moment  seemed  unaware 
of  her  presence.  At  length  he  raised  the  cup  to 
his  lips  and  finding  it  empty  set  it  down  and  rose 
to  go  back  to  his  work.  Humility  interfered  and 
reminded  him  of  a  call  to  be  paid  at  one  of  the 
upland  farms.  The  children  might  go  too,  she 
suggested.  It  would  be  a  very  little  distance  out 
of  Honoria's  way. 

Mr.  Eaymond  sighed,  but  went  for  his  walk- 
ing-stick; and  they  set  out. 

When  they  reached  the  farm-house  he  left  the 
children  outside.  The  town-place  was  admirably 
suited  for  a  game  of  "  Follow-my-leader,"  which 
they  played  for  twenty  minutes  with  great  seri- 
ousness, to  the  disgust  of  the  roosting  poultry. 
Then  Taffy  spied  a  niche,  high  up,  where  a  slice 
had  been  cut  out  of  a  last  year's  haystack,  and 
fetched  a  ladder.  Up  they  climbed,  drew  the 
ladder  after  them,  and  played  at  being  Outlaws 
in  a  Cave,  until  the  dusk  fell. 

Still  Mr.  Kaymond  lingered  indoors.  "  He 
thinks  we  have  gone  home,"  said  Honoria. 
"  Now  the  thing  would  be  to  creep  down  and 
steal  one  of  the  fowls,  and  bring  it  back  and  cook 

it." 

119 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  We  can  make  believe  to  do  it,"  Taffy  sug- 
gested. 

Honoria  considered  for  a  moment.  "  I'll  tell 
you  what:  there's  a  great  Bryanite  meeting,  to- 
night, down  at  the  Chapel.  I  expect  there'll  be 
a  devil  hunt." 

"What's  that?" 

"  They  turn  out  the  lights  and  hunt  for  him 
in  the  dark." 

"  But  he  isn't  really  there." 

"  I  don't  know.  Suppose  we  play  at  scouts 
and  creep  down  the  road?  If  the  Chapel  is  lit 
up  we  can  spy  in  on  them;  and  then  you  can 
squeeze  your  nose  on  the  glass  and  make  a  face, 
while  I  say  '  Boo !  '  and  they'll  think  the  Old 
Gentleman  is  really  come." 

They  stole  down  the  ladder  and  out  of  the 
town-place.  The  Chapel  stood  three-quarters  of 
a  mile  away,  on  a  turfed  wastrel  where  two  high- 
roads met  and  crossed. 

Long  before  they  reached  it,  they  heard  clam- 
orous voices  and  groans. 

"  I  expect  the  devil  hunt  has  begun,"  said 

Honoria.     But  when  they  came  in  sight  of  the 

building,  its  windows  were  brightly  lit.      The 

noise  inside  was  terrific. 

120 


LIZZIE    EEDEEMS    HER    DOLL 

The  two  children  approached  it  with  all  the 
precaution  proper  to  scouts.  Suddenly  the  clam- 
or ceased,  and  the  evening  fell  so  silent  that  Taffy 
heard  the  note  of  an  owl  away  in  the  Tredinnis 
plantations  to  his  left.  This  silence  was  daunt- 
ing, but  they  crept  on  and  soon  were  standing  in 
the  illuminated  ring  of  furze  whins  which  sur- 
rounded the  Chapel. 

"  Can  you  reach  up  to  look  in?  " 

Taffy  could  not;  so  Honoria  obligingly  went 
on  hands  and  knees,  and  he  stood  on  her  back. 

"Can  you  see?    What's  the  matter?  " 

Taffy  gasped.    "  He's  in  there!  " 

"  What?— the  Old  Gentleman?  " 

"  Yes;  no — your  grandfather!  " 

"What?  Let  me  get  up.  Here,  you 
kneel " 

It  was  true.     Under  the  rays  of  a  paraffin 

lamp,  in  face  of  the  kneeling  congregation,  sat 

Squire  Moyle;    his  body  stiffly  upright  on  the 

bench,  his  jaws  rigid,  his  eyes,  with  horror  in 

them,  fastened  upon  the  very  window  through 

which  Honoria  peered — fastened,  it  seemed  to 

her,  upon  her  face.     But,  no;    he  saw  nothing. 

The  Bryanites  were  praying;  Honoria  saw  their 

lips  moving.     Their  eyes  were  all  on  the  old 

121 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

man's  face.  In  the  straining  silence  his  mouth 
opened — but  only  for  a  moment — while  his 
tongue  wetted  his  parched  lips. 

A  man  by  the  pulpit-stairs  shuffled  his  feet. 
A  sigh  passed  through  the  Chapel  as  he  rose  and 
relaxed  the  tension.  It  was  Jacky  Pascoe.  He 
stepped  up  to  the  Squire,  and,  laying  a  hand  on 
his  shoulder,  said,  gently,  persuasively,  yet  so 
clearly  that  Honoria  could  hear  every  word : 

"  Try,  brother.  Keep  on  trying.  O,  I've 
knowed  cases — .  You  can  never  tell  how  near 
salvation  is.  One  minute  the  heart's  like  a  stone, 
and  the  next  maybe  'tis  melted  and  singing  like 
fat  in  a  pan.    'Tis  working!  'tis  working!  " 

The  congregation  broke  out  with  cries: 
"  Amen!  "  "  Glory,  glory!  "  The  Squire's  lips 
moved  and  he  muttered  something.  But  stony 
despair  sat  in  his  eyes. 

"  Ay,  glory,  glory !     You've  been  a  doubter, 

and  you  doubt  no  longer.     Soon  you'll  be  a 

shouter.    Man,  you'll  dance  like  as  David  danced 

before  the  ark!     You'll  feel  it  in  your  toes! 

Come  along,  friends,  while  he's  resting  a  minute ! 

Sing   all   together — Oh,   the   blessed   peace   of 

it!  " 

I  long  to  be  there,  His  glory  to  share 

122 


LIZZIE    REDEEMS    HER    DOLL 

He  pitched  the  note,  and  the  congregation 
took  up  the  second  line  with  a  rolling,  gathering 
volume  of  song.  It  broke  on  the  night  like  the 
footfall  of  a  regiment  at  charge.  Honoria  scram- 
bled off  Taffy's  back,  and  the  two  slipped  away 
to  the  highroad. 

"  Shall  you  tell  your  father?  " 

"  I— I  don't  know." 

She  stooped  and  found  a  loose  stone.  "  He 
sha'n't  find  salvation  to-night,"  she  said,  heroic- 
ally. 

As  the  stone  crashed  through  the  window,  the 
two  children  pelted  off.  They  ran  on  the  soft 
turf  by  the  wayside,  and  only  halted  to  listen 
when  they  reached  Tredinnis's  great  gates.  The 
sound  of  feet  running,  far  up  the  road,  set  them 
off  again,  but  now  in  opposite  ways.  Honoria 
sped  down  the  avenue,  and  Taffy  headed  for  the 
Parsonage,  across  the  towans.  Ordinarily,  this 
road  at  night  would  have  been  full  of  terrors  for 
him;  but  now  the  fear  at  his  heels  kept  him  go- 
ing, while  his  heart  thumped  on  his  ribs.  He 
was  just  beginning  to  feel  secure,  when  he  blun- 
dered against  a  dark  figure  which  seemed  to  rise 
straight  out  of  the  night. 

"Hullo!" 

123 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Blessed  voice!  The  wayfarer  was  his  own 
father. 

"  Taffy !  I  thought  you  were  home  an  hour 
ago.    Where  on  earth  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  With  Honoria."  He  was  about  to  say  more, 
but  checked  himself.  "  I  left  her  at  the  top  of 
the  avenue,"  he  explained. 


124 


XII 

taffy's  childhood  comes  to  an  end 

The  summer  passed.  There  was  a  talk  in  the 
early  part  of  it  that  the  Bishop  would  be  com- 
ing, next  spring,  to  consecrate  the  restored 
church  and  hold  a  confirmation  service.  Taffy 
and  Honoria  were  to  be  confirmed,  and  early  in 
August  Mr.  Raymond  began  to  set  apart  an  hour 
each  day  for  preparing  them.  In  a  week  or  two 
the  boy's  head  was  full  of  religion.  He  spent 
much  of  his  time  in  the  church,  watching  the 
carpenter  at  work  upon  the  new  seats;  his  mind 
ran  on  the  story  of  Samuel,  and  he  wished  his 
mother  had  followed  Hannah's  example  and 
dedicated  him  to  God;  he  had  a  suspicion  that 
God  would  be  angry  with  her  for  not  doing  so. 

He  did  not  observe  that,  as  the  autumn  crept 

on,  a  shadow  gathered  on  Humility's  face.    One 

Sunday  the  old  Squire  did  not  come  to  church; 

and  again  on  the  next  Wednesday,  at  the  harvest 

festival,  Honoria  sat  alone  in  the  Tredinnis  pew. 

125 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

The  shadow  was  on  his  mother's  face  as  he  chat- 
tered about  this  on  their  way  home  to  the  Parson- 
age; but  the  boy  did  not  perceive  it.  He  loved 
his  parents,  but  their  lives  lay  outside  his  own, 
and  their  sayings  and  doings  passed  him  by  like  a 
vain  show.  He  walked  in  the  separate  world  of 
childhood,  and  it  seemed  an  enormous  world  yet, 
though  a  few  weeks  were  to  bring  him  abruptly 
to  the  end  of  it. 

But  just  before  he  came  to  the  precipice  he  was 
given  a  glimpse  of  the  real  world — and  of  a 
world  beyond  that,  far  more  splendid  and  roman- 
tic than  any  region  of  his  dreams. 

The  children  had  no  lessons  during  Christmas, 
or  for  three  weeks  after.  On  the  last  morning 
before  the  holidays,  George  brought  a  letter  for 
Mr.  Raymond,  who  read  it,  considered  for 
awhile,  and  laid  it  among  his  papers. 

"  It's  an  invitation,"  George  announced,  in  a 
whisper.    "  I  wonder  if  he'll  let  you  come." 

"  Where  ?  "  whispered  Taffy. 

"  Up  to  Plymouth — to  the  Pantomime." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Oh — clowns,  and  girls  dressed  up  like  boys, 

and  policemen  on  slides,  and  that  sort  of  thing." 

Taffy  sat  bewildered.     He  vaguely  remem- 

12G 


TAFFY'S    CHILDHOOD    ENDS 

bered  Plymouth  as  a  mass  of  roofs  seen  from  tlie 
train,  as  it  drew  up  for  a  minute  or  two  on  a  high 
bridge.  Someone  in  the  railway  carriage  had 
talked  of  an  engine  called  Brutus,  which  (it  ap- 
peared) had  lately  run  away  and  crashed  into  the 
cloak-room  at  the  end  of  the  platform.  He  still 
thought  of  railway  engines  as  big,  blundering 
animals,  with  wills  of  their  own,  and  of  Plym- 
outh as  a  town  rendered  insecure  by  their  va- 
garies; but  the  idea  that  its  roofs  covered  girls 
dressed  up  like  boys  and  policemen  on  slides  was 
new  to  him,  and  pleasant  on  the  whole,  though 
daunting. 

"  Will  you  give  my  thanks  to  Sir  Harry,"  said 
Mr.  Eaymond  after  lessons;  "  and  tell  him  that 
Taffy  may  go." 

So  on  New  Year's  Day  Taffy  found  himself  in 
Plymouth.  It  was  an  experience  which  he  could 
never  fit  into  his  life  except  as  a  gaudy  interlude; 
for  when  he  awoke  and  looked  back  upon  it,  he 
was  no  longer  the  boy  who  had  climbed  up  be- 
side Sir  Harry  and  behind  Sir  Harry's  restless 
pair  of  bays.  The  whirl  began  with  that  drive  to 
the  station;  began  again  in  the  train;  began 
again  as  they  stepped  out  on  the  pavement  at 
Plymouth,  just  as  a  company  of  scarlet-coated 

127 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

soldiers  came  down  tlie  roadway  with  a  din  of 
brazen  music.  The  crowd,  the  shops,  the  vast 
size  of  the  hotel,  completely  dazed  him,  and  he 
seriously  accepted  the  waiter,  in  his  black  suit 
and  big  white  shirt-front,  as  a  contribution  to  the 
fun  of  the  entertainment. 

"  We  must  dine  early,"  Sir  Harry  announced 
at  lunch;  "  the  Pantomime  begins  at  seven." 

"Isn't— isn't  this  the  Pantomime?"  Taffy 
stammered. 

George  giggled.  Sir  Harry  set  down  his  glass 
of  claret,  stared  at  the  boy  and  broke  into  musical 
laughter.  Taffy  perceived  he  had  made  some 
ridiculous  mistake  and  blushed  furiously. 

"  God  bless  the  child — Pantomime's  at  the 
theatre!" 

"  Oh!  "  Taffy  recalled  the  canvas  booth  and 
wheezy  cornet  of  his  early  days  with  a  faint  chill 
of  disappointment. 

But  with  George  at  his  side  it  was  impossible 
to  be  anything  but  happy.  After  lunch  they  sal- 
lied out,  and  it  would  have  been  hard  to  choose 
the  gayest  of  the  three.  Sir  Harry's  radiant 
good-temper  seemed  to  gild  the  streets.  He  took 
the  boys  up  to  the  Hoe  and  pointed  out  the  war- 
ships;   he  whisked  them  into  the  Camera  Ob- 

128 


TAFFY'S    CHILDHOOD    ENDS 

scura;  thence  to  the  Citadel,  where  they  watched 
a  squad  of  recruits  at  drill ;  thence  to  the  Barbi- 
can, where  the  trawling-fleet  lay  packed  like  her- 
ring, and  the  shops  were  full  of  rope  and  oil-skin 
suits  and  marine  instruments,  and  dirty  children 
rolled  about  the  roadway  between  the  legs  of  sea- 
booted  fishermen;  and  so  up  to  the  town  again, 
where  he  lingered  in  the  most  obliging  manner 
while  the  boys  stared  into  the  fishing-tackle  shops 
and  toy  shops.  On  the  way  he  led  them  up  a 
narrow  passage  and  into  a  curious  room,  where 
fifteen  or  twenty  men  were  drinking,  and  talking 
at  the  top  of  their  voices.  The  most  of  them 
seemed  to  know  Sir  Harry  well  and  greeted  him 
with  an  odd  mixture  of  respect  and  familiarity. 
Their  talk  was  full  of  mysterious  names  and  ex- 
pressions, and  Taffy  thought  at  first  they  must 
be  free-masons.  '  Something  or  other  was  a 
walk-over  for  the  Milkman;  Lapidary  was 
scratched,  which  left  it  a  soft  thing,  unless  Sir 
Harry  fancied  Nursery  Governess  at  nine-stone- 
eight,  in  which  case  Billy  behind  the  bar  would 
do  as  much  business  as  he  liked  at  six-to-one ' — 
and  so  forth.  After  awhile  Taffy  discovered  they 
were  talking  about  horses,  and  wondered  why 

they  should  meet  to  discuss  horses  in  a  dingy 

129 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

room  up  a  back  yard.  "  Youngster  of  yours  is 
growin',  Surrarry,"  said  a  red-faced  man. 
"  Who's  his  stable  companion?  "  Taffy  was  in- 
troduced, and  to  his  embarrassment  Sir  Harry 
began  to  relate  his  ridiculous  mistake  at  lunch. 
The  men  roared  with  laughter. 

He  made  another,  quite  as  ridiculous,  at  the 
pastry-cook's  where  Sir  Harry  ordered  tea, 
"  What'll  you  take  with  it?  Call  for  what  you 
like,  only  don't  poison  yourselves."  Taffy  re- 
ferring his  gaze  from  the  buns  and  confections 
on  the  counter  to  the  card  in  his  hands,  which 
was  inscribed  with  words  in  unknown  tongues, 
made  a  bold  plunge  and  announced  that  he  would 
take  a  "  marasheno." 

This  tickled  Sir  Harry  mightily.  He  ordered 
the  waitress  with  a  wink  to  "  bring  the  young 
gentleman  a  marasheno;  "  and  Taffy,  who  had 
expected  something  in  the  shape  of  a  macaroon, 
was  confronted  with  a  tiny  glass  of  a  pale  liquor 
which,  when  tasted,  in  the  most  surprising  man- 
ner put  sunshine  into  his  stomach  and  brought 
tears  into  his  eyes.  But  under  Sir  Harry's  quiz- 
zical gaze  he  swallowed  it  down  bravely  and  sat 
gasping  and  blinking. 

It  may  have  been  that  the  maraschino  in- 

130 


TAFFY'S    CHILDHOOD    ENDS 

duced  a  liaze  upon  the  rest  of  the  afternoon. 
The  gas-lamps  were  lit  when  they  left  the  pastry- 
cook's and  entered  a  haberdasher's  where  Taffy, 
without  knowing  why,  was  fitted  with  a  pair  of 
white  kid  gloves.  Of  dinner  at  the  hotel  he  re- 
membered nothing  except  that  the  candles  on 
the  tables  had  red  shades,  of  which  the  silverware 
gave  funny  reflections;  that  the  same  waiter 
flitted  about  in  the  penumbra;  and  that  Sir 
Harry,  who  was  dressed  like  the  waiter,  said, 
"  Wake  up,  young  Marasheno !  Do  you  take 
your  coffee  black?  "  "  It's  usually  light  brown 
at  home,"  answered  Taffy;  at  which  Sir  Harry 
laughed  again.  "  Black  will  suit  you  better  to- 
night," he  said,  and  poured  out  a  small  cupful 
which  Taffy  drank  and  found  exceedingly  nasty. 
And  a  moment  later  he  was  wide  awake,  and  the 
three  were  following  a  young  woman  along  a 
passage  which  seemed  to  run  in  a  complete  circle. 
The  young  woman  flung  open  a  door;  they  en- 
tered a  little  room  with  a  balcony  in  front;  and 
the  first  glorious  vision  broke  on  the  child  with  a 
blaze  of  light,  a  crash  of  music  and  the  murmur 
of  hundreds  of  voices. 

Faces,  faces,  faces ! — faces  mounting  from  the 

pit  below  him,  up  and  up  to  the  sky-blue  ceiling, 

131 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

where  painted  goddesses  danced  and  scattered 
pink  roses  around  the  enormous  gasalier.  Fauns 
piping  on  the  great  curtain,  fiddles  sawing  in  the 
orchestra  beneath,  ladies  in  gay  silks  and  jewels 
leaning  over  the  gilt  balconies  opposite — which 
were  real,  and  which  a  vision  only?  He  turned 
helplessly  to  George  and  Sir  Harry.  Yes,  they 
were  real.  But  what  of  Nannizabuloe,  and  the 
sand-hills,  and  the  little  parsonage  to  which  that 
very  morning  he  had  turned  to  wave  his  hand- 
kerchief? 

A  bell  rang,  and  the  curtain  rose  upon  a  com- 
pany of  russet-brown  elves  dancing  in  a  green 
wood.  The  play  was  "  Jack  the  Giant-killer;  " 
but  Taffy,  who  knew  the  story  in  the  book  by 
heart,  found  the  story  on  the  stage  almost  mean- 
ingless. That  mattered  nothing;  it  was  the 
w^orld — the  new  and  unimagined  world,  stretch- 
ing deeper  and  still  deeper  as  the  scenes  were 
lifted — a  world  in  which  solid  walls  crumbled, 
and  forests  melted,  and  loveliness  broke  through 
the  ruins,  unfolding  like  a  rose;  it  was  this 
that  seized  on  the  child's  heart  until  he  could 
have  wept  for  its  mere  beauty.  Often  he  had 
sought  out  the  trout-pools  on  the  moors  behind 
the  towans  and  lying  at  full  length  had  watched 

132 


TAFFY'S    CHILDHOOD    ENDS 

the  fish  moving  between  the  stones  and  water- 
plants;  and  watching  through  a  summer's  after- 
noon had  longed  to  change  places  with  them  and 
glide  through  their  grottoes  or  anchor  among  the 
reed-stalks  and  let  the  ripple  run  over  him.  As 
long  back  as  he  could  remember,  all  beautiful 
sights  had  awakened  this  ache,  this  longing — 

O,  that  I  were  where  I  would  be! 

Then  would  I  be  where  I  am  not ; 
For  where  I  am  I  would  not  be, 

And  where  I  would  be,  I  can  not. 

It  seemed  to  him  that  these  bright  beings  on  the 
stage  had  broken  through  the  barriers,  had 
stepped  beyond  the  flaming  ramparts,  and  were 
happy.  Their  horse-play,  at  which  George 
laughed  so  immoderately,  called  to  Taffy  to 
come  and  be  happy,  too;  and  when  Jack  the 
Giant-killer  changed  to  Jack  in  the  Beanstalk, 
and  when  in  the  Transformation  Scene  a  real 
beanstalk  grew  and  unfolded  its  leaves,  and  each 
leaf  revealed  a  fairy  seated,  with  the  limelight 
flashing  on  star  and  jewelled  wand,  the  longing 
became  unbearable.  The  scene  passed  in  a  min- 
ute. The  clown  and  pantaloon  came  on,  and 
presently  Sir  Harry  saw  Taffy's  shoulders  shak- 

133 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

ing,  and  set  it  down  to  laughter  at  the  harlequin- 
ade.   He  could  not  see  the  child's  face. 

But,  perhaps,  the  queerest  event  of  the  even- 
ing (when  Taffy  came  to  review  his  recollections) 
was  this:  He  must  have  fallen  into  a  stupor  on 
leaving  the  theatre,  for  when  he  awoke  he  found 
himself  on  a  couch  in  a  gas-lit  room,  with  George 
beside  him,  and  Sir  Harry  was  shaking  him 
by  the  collar,  and  saying,  "  God  bless  the  chil- 
dren, I  thought  they  were  in  bed  hours  ago!  " 
A  man — the  same  who  had  talked  about  race 
horses  that  afternoon — was  standing  by  the 
table,  on  which  a  quantity  of  cards  lay  scattered 
among  the  drinking  glasses;  and  he  laughed 
at  this,  and  his  laugh  sounded  just  like  the 
rustling  of  paper.  "  It's  all  very  well — " 
began  Sir  Harry,  but  checked  himself  and  lit 
a  candle,  and  led  the  two  boys  off  shivering  to 
bed. 

The  next  morning,  too,  had  its  surprises.  To 
begin  with.  Sir  Harry  announced  at  breakfast 
that  he  must  go  and  buy  a  horse.  He  might  be 
an  hour  or  two  over  this  business,  and  mean- 
while the  boys  had  better  go  out  into  the  town 
and    enjoy   themselves.      Perhaps   a   sovereign 

apiece  might  help  them. 

134 


TAFFY'S    CHILDHOOD    ENDS 

Taffy,  who  had  never  in  his  life  possessed 
more  than  a  shilling,  was  staring  at  the  gold 
piece  in  his  hand,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Sir 
Harry's  horse-racing  friend  came  in  to  breakfast 
and  nodded  "  Good-morning." 

"  Pity  you're  leaving  to-day,"  he  said,  as  he 
took  his  seat  at  a  table  hard  by  them. 

"  My  revenge  must  wait,'*  Sir  Harry  an- 
swered. 

It  seemed  a  cold-blooded  thing  to  be  said  so 
carelessly.  Taffy  wondered  if  Sir  Harry's 
search  for  a  horse  had  anything  to  do  with  this 
revenge,  and  the  notion  haunted  him  in  the  in- 
tervals of  his  morning's  shopping. 

But  how  to  lay  out  his  sovereign?  That  was 
the  first  question.  George,  who  within  ten  min- 
utes had  settled  his  own  problem  by  purchasing 
a  doubtful  fox-terrier  of  the  Boots  of  the  hotel, 
saw  no  difficulty.  The  Boots  had  another  pup 
for  sale — one  of  the  same  litter. 

"  But  I  want  something  for  mother,  and  the 
others — and  Honoria." 

''Botheration!      I'd  forgotten  Honoria,  and 

now  the  money's  gone!     Never  mindj    she  can 

have  my  pup." 

135 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"Oh!"  said  Taffy,  ruefully.  "Then  she 
won't  think  much  of  my  present." 

"  Yes  she  will.  Suppose  you  buy  a  collar  for 
him — you  can  get  one  for  five  shillings." 

They  found  a  saddler's  and  chose  the  dog-col- 
lar, which  came  to  four  shillings;  and  for  eigh- 
teen pence  the  shopman  agreed  to  have  "  Hon- 
oria  from  Taffy  "  engraved  on  it  within  an  hour. 
Humility's  present  was  chosen  with  surprising 
ease-^a  large,  framed  photograph  of  the  Bishop 
of  Exeter;  price,  six  shillings. 

"  I  don't  suppose,"  objected  George,  "  your 
mother  cares  much  for  the  Bishop  of  Exeter." 

"  Oh,  yes,  she  does,"  said  Taffy;  "  he's  com- 
ing to  confirm  us  next  spring.  Besides,"  he 
added,  with  one  of  those  flashes  of  wisdom 
which  surely  he  derived  from  her,  "  mother 
won't  care  what  it  is,  so  long  as  she's  remem- 
bered.   And  it  costs  more  than  the  collar." 

This  left  him  with  eight-and-sixpence;  and 
for  three-and-sixpence  he  bought  a  work-box  for 
his  grandmother,  with  a  view  of  Plymouth  Hoe 
on  the  lid.  But  now  came  the  crux.  What 
should  he  get  for  his  father? 

"  It  must  be  a  book,"  George  suggested. 

"  But  what  kind  of  a  book  ?    He  has  so  many." 

ICG 


TAFFY'S    CHILDHOOD    ENDS 

"  Something  in  Latin." 

The  bookseller's  window  was  filled  with  yel- 
low-backed novels  and  toy-books,  which  obvi- 
ously would  not  do.  So  they  marched  in  and  de- 
manded a  book  suitable  for  a  clergyman  who 
had  a  good  many  books  already — "  a  middle- 
aged  clergyman,"  George  added. 

"  You  can't  go  far  wrong  with  this,"  sug- 
gested the  bookseller,  producing  Crockford's 
''  Clerical  Directory "  for  the  current  year. 
But  this  was  too  expensive;  "  and,"  said  Taffy, 
"  I  think  he  would  rather  have  something  in 
Latin."  The  bookseller  rubbed  his  chin,  went  to 
his  shelves,  and  took  down  a  small  De  Imita- 
tione  Christi,  bound  in  half-calf.  "  Y^ou  can't 
go  far  wrong  with  this,  either,"  he  assured  them. 
So  Taffy  paid  down  his  money. 

Just  as  the  boys  reached  the  hotel.  Sir  Harry 
drove  up  in  a  cab;  and  five  minutes  later  they 
were  all  rattling  off  to  the  railway  station.  Taffy 
eyed  the  cab-horse  curiously,  never  doubting  it 
to  be  Sir  Harry's  new  purchase;  and  was  ex- 
tremely surprised  when  the  cabman  whipped  it 
up  and  trotted  off — after  receiving  his  money, 
too.    But  in  the  bustle  there  was  no  time  to  ask 

questions. 

137 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

It  was  about  three  in  the  afternoon,  and  the 
sun  already  low  in  the  southwest,  when  they 
came  in  sight  of  the  cross-roads  and  Sir  Harry 
pulled  up  his  bays.  And  there,  on  the  green  by 
the  sign-post,  stood  Mrs.  Raymond.  She  caught 
Taffy  in  her  arms  and  hugged  him  till  he  felt 
ashamed,  and  glanced  around  to  see  if  the  others 
were  looking;  but  the  phaeton  was  bowling 
away  down  the  road. 

"  But  why  are  you  here,  mother?  " 

Mrs.  Raymond  stared  awhile  after  the  car- 
riage before  speaking.  "  Your  father  had  to  be 
at  the  church,"  she  said. 

"  But  there's  no  service "    He  broke  off. 

"  See  what  I've  brought  for  you!  "  And  he 
pulled  out  the  portrait.  "  Do  you  know  who  it 
is?" 

Humility  thanked  him  and  kissed  him  pas- 
sionately. There  was  something  odd  with  her 
this  afternoon. 

"  Don't  you  like  your  present?  " 

"  Darling,  it  is  beautiful,"  she  stooped  and 
kissed  him  again,  passionately. 

"  I've  a  present  for  father,  too;  a  book.  Why 
are  you  walking  so  fast  ?  "  In  a  little  while  he 
asked  again,  "  Why  are  you  walking  so  fast?  " 

138 


TAFFY'S    CHILDHOOD    ENDS 

"  I — I  thought  you  would  be  wanting  your 
tea." 

"  Mayn't  I  take  father  his  book  first?  " 

She  did  not  answer. 

"  But  mayn't  I?  "  he  persisted. 

They  had  reached  the  garden-gate.  Humility 
seemed  to  hesitate.  "  Yes;  go,"  she  said  at 
length;  and  he  ran,  with  the  De  Imitatione 
Christi  under  his  arm. 

As  he  came  within  view  of  the  church  he  saw 
a  knot  of  men  gathered  about  the  door.  They 
were  pulling  something  out  from  the  porch.  He 
heard  the  noise  of  hammering,  and  Squire 
Moyle,  at  the  back  of  the  crowd,  was  shouting  at 
the  top  of  his  voice: 

"  The  church  is  yours,  is  it?  I'll  see  about 
that!  Pitch  out  the  furnitcher,  my  billies — 
thafs  mine,  anyway!  " 

Still  the  hammers  sounded  within  the  church. 

"  Don't  believe  in  sudden  convarsion,  don't 
'ee?  I  reckon  you  will  when  you  look  round 
your  church.  Bishop  coming  to  consecrate  it,  is 
he  ?  Consecrate  my  furnitcher  ?  I'll  see  you  and 
your  bishop  to  blazes  first!  " 

A    heap    of    shattered    timber    came    flying 

through  the  porch. 

139 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  Your  church,  hey  ?    Your  church  ?  " 

The  crowd  fell  back  and  Mr.  Raymond  stood 
in  the  doorway,  between  Bill  Udy  and  Jim  the 
Huntsman.  Bill  Udy  held  a  brazen  ewer  and 
paten,  and  Jim  a  hammer;  and  Mr.  Raymond 
had  a  hand  on  one  shoulder  of  each. 

For  a  moment  there  was  silence.  As  Taffy 
came  running  through  the  lych-gate  a  man  who 
had  been  sitting  on  a  flat  tombstone  and  watch- 
ing, stood  up  and  touched  his  arm.  It  was 
Jackey  Pascoe,  the  Bryanite. 

"  Best  go  back,"  he  said,  "  'tis  a  wisht  poor 
job  of  it." 

Taffy  halted  for  a  moment.  The  Squire's 
voice  had  risen  to  a  sudden  scream — he  sput- 
tered as  he  pointed  at  Mr.  Raymond. 

"  There  he  is,  nay  hours!  Get  behind  the  var- 
mint, somebody,  and  stop  his  earth!  Calls  his- 
self  a  minister  of  God !    Call  it  his  church !  " 

Mr.  Raymond  took  his  hands  off  the  men's 
shoulders,  and  walked  straight  up  to  him.  "  'Not 
my  church,"  he  said,  aloud  and  distinctly, 
"God's  church!" 

He  stretched  out  an  arm.    Taffy,  running  up, 

supposed  it  stretched  out  to  strike.    "  Father!  " 

But  Mr.  Raymond's  palm  was  open  as  he  lifted 

140 


TiVFFY'S    CHILDHOOD    ENDS 

it  over  the  Squire's  head.  "  God's  church,"  he 
repeated.  "  In  whose  service,  sir,  I  defy  you. 
Go!  or  if  you  will,  and  have  the  courage,  come 
and  stand  while  I  kneel  amid  the  ruin  you  have 
done  and  pray  God  to  judge  between  us." 

He  paused,  with  his  eyes  on  the  Squire's. 

"  You  dare  not,  I  see.  Go,  poor  coward,  and 
plan  what  mischief  you  will.  Only  now  leave 
me  in  peace  a  little." 

He  took  the  boy's  hand  and  they  passed  into 
the  church  together.  No  one  followed.  Hand 
in  hand  they  stood  before  the  dismantled  chan- 
cel. Taffy  heard  the  sound  of  feet  shuffling  on 
the  walk  outside,  and  looked  up  into  Mr.  Ray- 
mond's face. 

"Father!" 

"  Kiss  me,  sonny." 

The  De  Imitatione  Christi  slipped  from  Taf- 
fy's fingers  and  fell  upon  the  chancel  step. 

So  his  childhood  ended. 


141 


XIII 

THE    BUILDERS 

These  things  happened  on  a  Friday.  After 
breakfast  next  morning  Taffy  went  to  fetch  his 
books.  He  did  so  out  of  habit  and  without  think- 
ing; but  his  father  stopped  him. 

"  Put  them  away,"  he  said.  "  Some  day  we'll 
go  back  to  them,  but  not  yet." 

Instead  of  books  Humility  packed  their  din- 
ner in  the  satchel.  They  reached  the  church  and 
found  the  interior  just  as  they  had  left  it.  Taffy 
was  set  to  work  to  pick  up  and  sweep  together 
the  scraps  of  broken  glass  which  littered  the 
chancel.  His  father  examined  the  wreckage  of 
the  pews. 

While  the  boy  knelt  at  his  task,  his  thoughts 
were  running  on  the  Pantomime.  He  had  meant, 
last  night,  to  recount  all  its  wonders  and  the 
wonders  of  Plymouth;  but  somehow  the  words 
had  not  come.  After  displaying  his  presents  he 
could  find  no  more   to   say:    and  feeling  his 

142 


THE    BUILDEES 

father's  hand  laid  on  his  shoulder,  had  burst  into 
tears  and  hidden  his  face  in  his  mother's  lap. 
He  wanted  to  console  them  and  they  were  pity- 
ing him — why  he  could  not  say — but  he  knew 
it  was  so. 

And  now  the  Pantomime,  Plymouth,  every- 
thing, seemed  to  have  slipped  away  from  him 
into  a  far  past.  Only  his  father  and  mother  had 
drawn  nearer  and  become  more  real.  He  tried 
to  tell  himself  one  of  the  old  stories;  but  it  fell 
into  pieces  like  the  fragments  of  colored  glass 
he  was  handling,  and  presently  he  began  to  think 
of  the  glass  in  his  hands  and  let  the  story  go. 

"  On  Monday  we'll  set  to  work,"  said  his 
father,  "  I  dare  say  Joel " — this  was  the  car- 
penter down  at  Innis  village — "  will  lend  me  a 
few  tools  to  start  with.  But  the  clearing  up  will 
take  us  all  to-day." 

They  ate  their  dinner  in  the  vestry.  Taffy 
observed  that  his  father  said:  "  We  will  do  this," 
or  "  Ow  best  plan  will  be  so-and-so,"  and  spoke 
to  him  as  to  a  grown  man.  On  the  whole,  though 
the  dusk  found  them  still  at  work,  this  was  a 
happy  day. 

"  But  aren't  you  going  to  lock  the  door? "  he 
asked  as  they  were  leaving. 

US 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

"  ISTo,"  said  Mr.  Raymond.  "  We  shall  win, 
sonny;  but  not  in  that  way." 

On  the  morrow,  Taffy  rang  the  bell  for  service 
as  usual.  To  his  astonishment  Squire  Moyle  was 
amiong  the  first-comers.  He  led  Honoria  by  the 
hand,  entered  the  Tredinnis  pew  and  shut  the 
door  with  a  slam.  It  was  the  only  pew  left  un- 
mutilated.  The  rest  of  the  congregation — and 
curiosity  made  it  larger  than  usual — had  to 
stand;  but  a  wife  of  one  of  the  miners  found  a 
hassock  and  passed  it  to  Humility,  who  thanked 
her  for  it  with  brimming  eyes.  Mr.  Raymond 
said  afterward  that  this  was  the  first  success  of 
the  campaign. 

Not  willing  to  tire  his  audience,  he  preached 
a  very  short  sermon;  but  it  was  his  manifesto,  and 
all  the  better  for  being  short.  He  took  his  text 
from  Nehemiah,  Chapter  II.,  verses  19  and  20. 

"  But  when  Sanhallat  the  Horonite,  and  To- 
hiah  the  servant,  the  Ammonite,  and  Geshem  the 
Arabian,  heard  it,  they  laughed  us  to  scorn,  and 
despised  us,  and  said:  '  What  is  this  thing  that 
ye  do  ?    Will  ye  rebel  against  the  King  ?  '  " 

"  Then  answered  I  them  and  said  unto  them, 
'  the  God  of  Heaven,  He  will  prosper  us;  there- 
fore, we  His  servants  will  arise  and  build.''  " 

144 


THE    BUILDERS 

"  Fellow-parishioners,"  he  said,  "  you  see  the 
state  of  this  church.  Concerning  the  cause  of 
it  I  require  none  of  you  to  judge.  I  enter  no 
plea  against  any  man.  Another  will  judge, 
who  said,  '  Destroy  this  temple  and  in  three 
days  I  will  rear  it  up.^  But  He  spake  of  the 
temple  of  His  body;  which  was  destroyed  and 
is  raised  up;  and  its  living  and  irrevocable  tri- 
umph I,  or  some  other  servant  of  God,  will  cel- 
ebrate at  this  altar,  Sunday  by  Sunday,  that 
whosoever  will  may  see,  yes,  and  taste  it.  The 
state  of  this  poor  shell  is  but  a  little  matter  to  a 
God  whose  majesty  once  inhabited  a  stable;  yet 
the  honor  of  this,  too,  shall  be  restored.  You 
wonder  how,  perhaps.  It  may  he  the  Lord  will 
work  for  us;  for  there  is  no  restraint  to  the 
Lord  to  save  hy  many  or  by  few.  Go  to  your 
homes  now  and  ponder  this;  and  having  pon- 
dered, if  you  will,  pray  for  us." 

As  the  Raymonds  left  the  church  they  found 
Squire  Moyle  waiting  by  the  porch.  Honoria 
stood  just  behind  him.  The  rest  of  the  congre- 
gation had  drawn  off  a  little  distance  to  watch. 
The  Squire  lifted  his  hat  to  Humility,  and 
turned  to  Mr.  Raymond  with  a  sour  frown. 

"  That  means  war?" 

145 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  It  means  that  I  stay,"  said  the  Vicar.  "  The 
war,  if  it  comes,  comes  from  your  side." 

"  I  don't  think  the  worse  of  'ee  for  fighting. 
You're  not  going  to  law,  then?" 

Mr.  Raymond  smiled.  "  I  don't  doubt  you've 
put  yourself  within  the  reach  of  it.  But  if  it 
eases  your  mind  to  know,  I  am  not  going  to  law." 

The  Squire  grunted,  raised  his  hat  again  and 
strode  off,  gripping  Honoria  by  the  hand. 

She  had  not  glanced  toward  Taffy.  Clearly 
she  was  not  allowed  to  speak  to  him. 

The  meaning  of  the  Vicar's  sermon  became 
plain  next  morning,  when  he  walked  down  to 
the  village  and  called  on  Joel  Hugh,  the  car- 
penter. 

"  I  knows  what  thee'rt  come  after,"  began 
Joel;  "but  'tis  no  use,  parson  dear.  Th'  old 
fellow  owns  the  roofs  over  us,  and  if  I  do  a  day's 
work  for  'ee,  out  I  goes,  neck  and  crop." 

Mr.  Raymond  had  expected  this.  "  It's  not 
for  work  I  come,"  said  he;  "  but  to  hire  a  few 
tools,  if  you're  minded  to  spare  them." 

Joel  scratched  his  head.  "  Might  manage 
that,  now.  But,  Lord  bless  'ee!  thee'lt  never 
make  no  hand  of  it."  He  chose  out  saw,  ham- 
mer, plane  and  auger,  and  packed  them  up  in  a 

U6 


THE    BUILDEES 

carpenter's  frail,  with  a  few  other  tools.  "  Don't 
'ee  talk  about  payment,  now;  naybors  must  be 
nayborly.  Only,  you  see,  a  man  must  look 
after  his  own." 

Mr.  Raymond  climbed  the  hill  toward  the 
towans  with  the  carpenter's  frail  slung  over  his 
shoulder.  As  luck  would  have  it,  near  the  top 
he  met  Squire  Moyle  descending  on  horseback. 
The  Vicar  nodded  "  Good-morning  "  in  passing, 
but  had  not  gone  a  dozen  steps  when  the  old  man 
reined  up  and  called  after  him. 

"Hi!" 

The  Vicar  halted. 

"  Whose  basket  is  that  you're  carrying?" 
Then,  getting  no  answer,  "  "Wait  till  next  Satur- 
day night,  when  Joel  Hugh  comes  to  thank  you. 
I  suppose  you  know  he  rents  his  cottage  by  the 
week?" 

"  ]^o  harm  shall  come  to  him  through  me," 
said  the  Vicar,  and  retraced  his  steps  down  the 
hill.  The  Squire  followed  at  a  foot-pace,  grin- 
ning as  he  went. 

That  night  Mr.  Raymond  went  back  to  his 

beloved  books,  but  not  to  read;  and  early  next 

morning  was  ready  at  the  cross-roads  for  the  van 

which  plied  twice  a  week  between  Innis  village 

U7 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

and  Truro.  He  had  three  boxes  with  him — 
heavy  boxes,  as  Calvin  the  van-driver  remarked 
when  it  came  to  lifting  them  on  board. 

"  Thee'rt  not  leaving  us,  surely?"  said  he. 

"  No." 

"  But  however  didst  get  these  lumping  boxes 
up  the  hill?" 

"  My  son  helped  me." 

He  had  modestly  calculated  on  averaging  a 
shilling  a  volume  for  his  books;  but  discovered 
on  leaving  the  shop  at  Truro  that  it  worked  out 
at  one-and-threepence.  He  returned  to  Nanni- 
zabuloe  that  night  with  one  box  only — but  it 
was  packed  full  of  tools — and  a  copy  of  Fuller's 
*'  Holy  State,"  which  at  the  last  moment  had 
proved  too  precious  to  be  parted  with — at  least, 
just  yet. 

The  woodwork  of  the  old  pews — painted  deal 
for  the  most  part,  but  mixed  with  a  few  boards 
of  good  red  pine  and  one  or  two  of  teak,  relics  of 
some  forgotten  shipwreck — lay  stacked  in  the 
belfry  and  around  the  front  under  the  west  gal- 
lery. Mr.  Kaymond  and  Taffy  spent  an  hour 
in  overhauling  it,  chose  out  the  boards  for  their 
first  pew,  and  fell  to  work. 

At  the  end  of  another  hour  the  pair  broke  off 

148 


THE    BUILDERS 

and  looked  at  each  other.  Taffy  could  not  help 
laughing.  His  own  knowledge  of  carpentry 
had  been  picked  up  by  watching  Joel  Hugh  at 
work,  and  just  sufficed  to  tell  him  that  his  father 
was  possibly  the  worst  carpenter  in  the  world. 

"  I  think  my  fingers  must  be  all  thumbs,"  de- 
clared Mr.  Raymond. 

The  puckers  in  his  face  set  Taffy  laughing 
afresh.  They  both  laughed  and  fell  to  work 
again,  the  boy  explaining  his  notions  of  the  diffi- 
cult art  of  mortising.  They  were  rudimentary, 
but  sound  as  far  as  they  went,  and  his  father 
recognized  this.  Moreover,  when  the  boy  had 
a  tool  to  handle  he  did  it  with  a  natural  deftness, 
in  spite  of  his  ignorance.  He  was  Humility's 
child,  born  with  the  skill-of-hand  of  generations 
of  lace-workers.  He  did  a  dozen  things  wrong- 
ly, but  he  neither  fumbled,  nor  hammered  his 
fingers,  nor  wounded  them  with  the  chisel — 
which  was  Humility's  husband's  way. 

At  the  end  of  four  days  of  strenuous  effort, 
they  had  their  first  pew  built.  It  was  a  recog- 
nizable pew,  though  it  leaned  to  one  side,  and 
the  door  (for  it  had  a  door)  fell  to  with  a  bang  if 
not  cautiously  treated.  The  triumph  was,  the 
seat  could  be  sat  upon  without  risk.     Mr.  Ray- 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

mond  and  Taffy  tested  it  with  their  combined 
weight  on  the  Saturday  evening,  and  went  home 
full  of  its  praises. 

"  But  look  at  your  clothes,"  said  Humility; 
and  they  looked. 

"  This  is  serious,"  said  Mr.  Raymond. 

"  Dear,  you  must  make  us  a  couple  of  work- 
ing suits — corduroy  or  some  such  stuff — other- 
wise this  pew-making  won't  pay." 

Humility  stood  out  against  this  for  a  day  or 
two.  That  lier  husband  and  child  should  go 
dressed  like  common  workmen!  But  there  was 
no  help  for  it,  and  on  the  Monday  week  Taffy 
went  forth  to  work  in  moleskin  breeches,  blue 
guernsey,  and  loose  white  smock.  As  for  Mr, 
Raymond,  the  only  badge  of  his  calling  was  his 
round  clerical  hat;  and  as  all  the  miners  in  the 
neighborhood  wore  hats  of  the  same  soft  felt  and 
only  a  trifle  higher  in  the  crown,  this  hardly 
amounted  to  a  distinction. 

Humility's  eyes  were  full  of  tears  as  she 
watched  them  from  the  door  that  morning.  But 
Taffy  felt  as  proud  as  Punch.  A  little  before 
noon  he  carried  out  a  board  that  required  saw- 
ing, and  rested  it  on  a  flat  tombstone  where,  with 

his  knee  upon  it,  he  could  get  a  good  purchase. 

150 


THE    BUILDEES 

He  was  sawing  away  when  he  heard  a  dog  bark- 
ing, and  looked  up  to  see  Honoria  coming  along 
the  path,  with  George's  terrier  frisking  at  her 
heels. 

She  halted  outside  the  lych-gate,  and  Taffy, 
vain  of  his  new  clothes,  drew  himself  up  and 
nodded. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Honoria.  "  I'm  not 
allowed  to  speak  to  you,  and  I'm  not  going  to, 
after  this."  She  swooped  on  the  puppy  and 
held  him.  "  See  what  George  brought  home 
from  Plymouth  for  me.     Isn't  he  a  beauty?" 

Held  so,  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck,  he  was  not 
a  beauty.  Taffy  had  it  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue 
to  tell  her  about  the  collar.  He  wished  he  had 
brought  it. 

"  I  wonder,"  she  went  on,  pensively,  "  your 
mother  had  the  heart  to  dress  you  out  in  that 
style.  But  I  suppose  now  you'll  be  growing  up 
into  quite  a  common  boy." 

Taffy  decided  to  say  nothing  about  the  collar. 
"  I  like  the  clothes,"  he  declared,  defiantly. 

"  Then  you  can't  have  the  common  instincts 
of  a  gentleman.  Well,  good-by!  Grandfather 
has  salvation  all  right  this  time;  he  said  he'd  put 
the  stick  about  me  if  I  dared  to  speak  to  you." 

151 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  He  won't  know." 

"  Won't  know?  Why  I  shall  tell  him,  of 
course,  when  I  get  back." 

"  But — but  he  mustiiH  beat  you!  " 

She  eyed  him  for  a  moment  or  two  in  silence. 
"  Mustn't  he?  I  advise  you  to  go  and  tell  him." 
She  walked  away  slowly,  whistling;  but  by  and 
by  broke  into  a  run  and  was  gone,  the  puppy 
scampering  behind  her. 

As  the  days  grew  longer  and  the  weather 
milder,  Taffy  and  his  father  worked  late  in- 
to the  evenings;  sometimes,  if  a  job  needed 
to  be  finished,  by  the  light  of  a  couple  of 
candles. 

One  evening,  about  nine  o'clock,  the  boy  as 
he  planed  a  bench  paused  suddenly.  "  What's 
that?" 

They  listened.  The  door  stood  open,  and 
after  a  second  or  two  they  heard  the  sound  of 
feet  tip-toeing  away  up  the  path  outside. 

"  Spies,  perhaps,"  said  his  father.  "  If  so, 
let  them  go  in  peace." 

But  he  was  not  altogether  easy.     There  had 

been  strange  doings  up  at  the  Bryanite  Chapel 

of  late.  He  still  visited  a  few  of  his  parishioners 

regularly — hill  farmers  and  their  wives  for  the 

152 


THE    BUILDERS 

most  part,  who  did  not  happen  to  be  tenants  of 
Squire  Moyle,  and  on  whom  his  visits  therefore 
could  bring  no  harm;  and  one  or  two  had  hinted 
of  strange  doings,  now  that  the  Bryanites  had 
gotten  hold  of  the  old  Squire.  They  themselves 
had  been  up — just  to  look;  they  confessed  it 
shame-facedly,  much  in  the  style  of  men  who 
have  been  drinking  overnight.  Without  press- 
ing them  and  showing  himself  curious,  the  Vicar 
could  get  at  no  particulars.  But  as  the  summer 
grew  he  felt  a  moral  sultriness,  as  it  were,  grow- 
ing with  it.  The  people  were  off  their  balance, 
restless;  and  behind  their  behavior  he  had  a 
sense,  now  of  something  electric,  menacing,  now 
of  a  hand  holding  it  in  check.  Slowly  in  those 
days  the  conviction  deepened  in  him  that  he  was 
an  alien  on  this  coast,  that  between  him  and  the 
hearts  of  the  race  he  ministered  to  there 
stretched  an  impalpable,  impenetrable  veil.  And 
all  this  while  the  faces  he  passed  on  the  road, 
though  shy,  were  kindlier  than  they  had  been 
in  the  days  before  his  self-confidence  left  him — • 
it  seemed  now  so  long  ago! 

On  a  Saturday  jiight  early  in  May,  the  foot- 
steps were  heard  again,  and  this  time  in  the 
porch  itself.     AVhile  Mr.  Kaymond  and  Taffy 

153 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

listened  the  big  latch  went  up  with  a  creak,  and 
a  dark  figure  slipped  into  the  church. 

"  Who's  there?"  challenged  Mr.  Raymond 
from  the  chancel  where  he  stood  peering  out  of 
the  small  circle  of  light. 

"A  friend.  Pass,  friend,  and  all's  well!" 
answered  a  squeaky  voice.  "  Bless  you,  I've 
sarved  in  the  militia  before  now." 

It  was  Jacky  Pascoe,  with  his  coat-collar 
turned  up  high  about  his  ears. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  Mr.  Raymond  de- 
manded, sharply. 

"  A  job." 

"  We  can  pay  for  no  work  here." 

"  Wait  till  thee'rt  asked.  Parson  dear.  I've 
been  spying  in  upon  'ee  these  nights  past. 
Pretty  carpenters  you  be!  T'other  night,  as  I 
was  a-peeping,  the  Lord  said  to  me,  '  Arise,  go, 
and  show  them  chaps  how  to  do  it  fitty.'  '  Dear 
Lord,'  I  said,  '  thou  knowest  I  be  a  Bryanite.* 
The  Lord  said  to  me,  '  None  of  your  back-an- 
swers!   Go  and  do  as  I  tell 'ee.'    So  here  I  be." 

Mr.  Raymond  hesitated.  "  Squire  Moyle  is 
your  friend,  I  hear,  and  the  friend  of  your 
chapel.  What  will  he  say  if  he  discovers  that 
you  are  helping  us?" 

154 


THE    BUILDERS 

Jacky  scratched  his  head.  "  I  reckon  the 
Lord  must  have  thought  o'  that,  too.  Suppose 
you  put  me  to  work  in  the  vestry?  There's  only 
one  window  looks  in  on  the  vestry,  you  can 
block  that  up  with  a  curtain,  and  there  I'll  be 
like  a  weevil  in  a  biscuit." 

When  this  screen  was  fixed,  the  little  Bryan- 
ite  looked  round  and  rubbed  his  hands.  "  Now 
I'll  tell  'ee  a  prabble,"  he  said — "  a  prabble 
about  this  candle  I'm  holding.  When  God  Al- 
mighty said  '  Let  there  he  light,'  He  gave  every 
man  a  candle — to  some  folks,  same  as  you,  long 
sixes  perhaps  and  best  wax;  to  others,  a  farthing 
dip.  But  they  all  helps  to  light  up;  and  the 
beauty  of  it  is.  Parson  " — he  laid  a  hand  on  Mr. 
Raymond's  cuff — "  there  isn'  one  of  'em  burns 
a  ha'porth  the  worse  for  every  candle  that's  lit 
from  'em.  Now  sit  down,  you  and  the  boy,  and 
I  lam  'ee  how  to  join  a  board." 


155 


XIV 

VOICES  FROM  THE   SEA 

Before  winter  and  the  long  nights  came  round 
again,  Taffy  had  become  quite  a  clever  carpen- 
ter. From  the  first  his  quickness  fairly  aston- 
ished the  Bryanite,  who  at  the  best  was  but  a 
journeyman  and  soon  owned  himself  beaten. 

"  I  doubt,"  said  he,  "  if  you'll  ever  make  so 
good  a  man  as  your  father;  but  you  can't  help 
making  a  better  workman."  He  added,  with 
his  eyes  on  the  boy's  face,  "  There's  one  thing  in 
which  you  might  copy  'em.  He  hasn't  much 
of  a  gift,  hut  he  lays  it  'pon  the  altar." 

By  this  time  Taffy  had  resumed  his  lessons. 
Every  day  he  carried  a  book  or  two  in  the 
satchel  with  his  dinner,  and  read  or  translated 
aloud  while  his  father  worked.  Two  hours 
were  allowed  for  this  in  the  morning,  and  again 
two  in  the  afternoon.  Sometimes  a  day  would 
be  set  apart  during  which  they  talked  nothing 
but  Latin.  Difficulties  in  the  text  of  their  au- 
thors they  postponed    until    the    evening,  and 

156 


VOICES    FEOM    THE    SEA 

worked  them  out  at  home,  after  supper,  with  the 
help  of  grammar  and  dictionary. 

The  boy  was  not  unhappy,  on  the  whole; 
though  for  weeks  together  he  longed  for  sight 
of  George  Vyell,  who  seemed  to  have  vanished 
into  space,  or  into  that  limbo  where  his  child- 
hood lay  like  a  toy  in  a  lumber-room.  Taffy 
seldom  turned  the  key  of  that  room.  The 
stories  he  imagined  now  were  not  about  fairies 
or  heroes,  but  about  himself.  He  wanted  to  be 
a  great  man  and  astonish  the  world.  Just  how 
the  world  was  to  be  astonished  he  did  not  clearly 
see,  even  in  his  dreams;  but  the  triumph,  in 
whatever  shape  it  came,  was  to  involve  a  new 
gown  for  his  mother,  and  for  his  father  a  whole 
library  of  books. 

Mr.  Raymond  never  went  back  to  his  books 
now,  except  to  help  Taffy.  The  Commentary 
on  the  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews  was  laid  aside. 
"Some  day!"  he  told  Humility.  The  Sunday 
congregation  had  dwindled  to  a  very  few,  mostly 
farm  people;  Squire  Moyle  having  threatened 
to  expel  any  tenant  of  his  who  dared  to  set  foot 
within  the  church. 

In  the  autumn  two  things  happened  which  set 

Taffy  wondering. 

157 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

During  the  first  three  years  at  Nannizabuloe 
old  Mrs.  Venning  had  regularly  been  carried 
downstairs  to  dine  with  the  family.  The  sea-air 
(she  said)  had  put  new  life  into  her.  But  now 
she  seldom  moved  from  her  room,  and  Taffy  sel- 
dom saw  her  except  at  night,  when — after  the 
old  childish  custom — he  knocked  at  her  door  to 
wish  her  pleasant  dreams  and  pull  up  the  weights 
of  the  tall  clock  which  stood  by  her  bed's  head. 

One  night  he  asked,  carelessly,  "  What  do  you 
want  with  the  clock?  Lying  here  you  don't  need 
to  know  the  time;  and  its  ticking  must  keep  you 
awake." 

"  So  it  does,  child;  but,  bless  you,  I  like  it,'^ 

"  Like  being  kept  awake?  " 

"  Dear,  yes!  I  have  enough  of  rest  and  quiet 
up  here.  You  mind  the  litany  I  used  to  say  over 
to  you? — Parson  Kempthorne  taught  it  to  us 
girls  when  I  was  in  service  with  him ;  'twas  made 
up,  he  said,  by  another  old  Devonshire  parson, 
years  and  years  ago — 

When  I  lie  within  my  bed 
Sick  in  heart  and  sick  in  head, 
And  with  doubts  discomforted, 
Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me! 

When  the  house  do  sigh  and  weep — 
158 


VOICES    FROM    THE    SEA 

That's  it.  You  wouldn't  think  how  quiet  it  is  up 
here  all  day.  But  at  night,  when  you're  in  bed 
and  sleeping,  all  the  house  begins  to  talk;  little 
creakings  of  the  furniture,  you  know,  and  the 
wind  in  the  chimney,  and  sometimes  the  rain  in 
the  gutters  running — it's  all  talk  to  me.  Mostly 
it's  quite  sociable  too;  but  sometimes,  in  rainy 
weather,  the  tune  changes,  and  then  it's  like  some 
poor  soul  in  bed  and  sobbing  to  itself.  That's 
when  the  verse  comes  in : 

When  the  house  do  sigh  and  weep 
And  the  world  is  drowned  in  sleep, 
Yet  my  eyes  the  watch  do  keep, 

Sweet  Spirit,  comfort  me ! 

And  then  the  clock's  ticking  is  a  wonderful  com- 
fort. Tick-iack,  tick-tack!  and  I  think  of  you 
stretched  asleep  and  happy  and  growing  up  to  be 
a  man,  and  the  minutes  running  and  trickling 
away  to  my  deliverance " 

"Granny!" 

"  My  dear,  I'm  as  well  off  as  most ;  but  that 
isn't  saying  I  sha'n't  be  glad  to  go  and  take  the 
pain  in  my  joints  to  a  better  land.  Before  we 
came  here,  in  militia-time,  I  used  to  lie  and  listen 
for  the  buglers,  but  now  I've  only  the  clock.    2^o 

159 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

more  bugles  for  me,  I  reckon,  till  I  hear  them 
blown  on  t'other  side  of  Jordan." 

Taffy  remembered  how  he  too  had  lain  and 
listened  to  the  bugles;  and  with  that  he  suddenly 
saw  his  childhood,  as  it  were  a  small  round  globe 
set  within  a  far  larger  one  and  wrapped  around 
with  other  folks'  thoughts.  He  kissed  his  grand- 
mother and  went  away  wondering ;  and  as  he  lay 
down  that  night  it  still  seemed  wonderful  to  him 
that  she  should  have  heard  those  bugles,  and 
more  wonderful  that  night  after  night  for  years 
she  should  have  been  thinking  of  him  while  he 
slept,  and  he  never  have  guessed  it. 

One  morning,  some  three  weeks  later,  he  and 
his  father  were  putting  on  their  oilskins  before 
starting  to  work — for  it  had  been  blowing  hard 
through  the  night  and  the  gale  was  breaking  up 
in  floods  of  rain — when  they  heard  a  voice  hal- 
looing in  the  distance.  Humility  heard  it  too  and 
turned  swiftly  to  Taffy.  "  Run  upstairs,  dear. 
I  expect  it's  someone  sent  from  Tresedder  Farm ; 
and  if  so,  he'll  want  to  see  your  father  alone." 

Mr.  Raymond  frowned.  "  Ko,"  he  said;  "  the 
time  is  past  for  that." 

A  fist  hammered  on  the  door.    Mr.  Raymond 

threw  it  open. 

160 


VOICES    FROM    THE    SEA 

"  Brigantine — on  the  sands — half  a  mile  this 
side  of  the  lighthouse!  "  Taffy  saw  across  his 
father's  shoulder  a  gleam  of  yellow  oilskins  and 
a  flapping  sou-wester'  hat.  The  panting  voice 
belonged  to  Sam  Udy — son  of  old  Bill  Udy — a 
laborer  at  Tresedder. 

"  I'll  go  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Raymond.  '"  Run 
you  for  the  coast-guard." 

The  oilskins  went  by  the  window;  the  side 
gate  clashed  to. 

''  Is  it  a  wreck? "  cried  Taffy.  "  May  I  go 
with  you?  " 

*'  Yes,  there  may  be  a  message  to  run  with." 

From  the  edge  of  the  towans,  where  the 
ground  dipped  steeply  to  the  long  beach,  they 
saw  the  wreck,  about  a  mile  up  the  coast  and,  as 
well  as  they  could  judge,  a  hundred  or  a  liundred- 
and-fifty  yards  out.  She  lay  almost  on  her  beam- 
ends,  with  the  waves  sweeping  high  across  her 
starboard  quarter,  and  never  less  than  six  ranks 
of  ugly  breakers  between  her  and  dry  land.  A 
score  of  watchers — in  the  distance  they  looked 
like  emmets — were  gathered  by  the  edge  of  the 
surf.    But  the  coast-guard  had  not  arrived  yet. 

"  The  tide  is  ebbing,  and  the  rocket  will  reach. 

Can  you  see  anyone  aboard  ?  " 

161 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

Taffy  spied  through  his  hands,  but  could  see 
no  one.  His  father  set  off  running  and  he  fol- 
lowed, half-blinded  by  the  rain,  at  every  fourth 
step  foundering  knee-deep  in  loose  sand  or  trip- 
ping  in  a  rabbit  hole.  They  had  covered  three- 
fourths  of  the  distance  when  Mr.  Raymond 
pulled  up  and  waved  his  hat  as  the  coast-guard 
carriage  swept  into  view  over  a  ridge  to  the  right 
and  came  plunging  across  the  main  valley  of  the 
towans.  It  passed  them  close — the  horses  fet- 
lock-deep in  sand,  with  heads  down  and  heaving, 
smoking  shoulders;  the  coast-guardsmen  with 
keen  strong  faces  like  heroes' — and  the  boy 
longed  to  copy  his  father  and  send  a  cheer  after 
them  as  they  went  galloping  by.  But  something 
rose  in  his  throat. 

He  ran  after  the  carnage,  and  reached  the 
shore  just  as  the  first  rocket  shot  singing  out 
toward  the  wreck.  By  this  time  at  least  a  hun- 
dred miners  had  gathered,  and  between  their  legs 
he  caught  a  glimpse  of  two  figures  stretched  at 
length  on  the  wet  sand.  He  had  never  looked  on 
a  dead  body  before.  The  faces  of  these  were  hid- 
den by  the  crowd ;  and  he  hung  about  the  fringe 
of  it,  dreading  and  yet  courting  a  sight  of 
them. 

162 


VOICES    FEOM    THE    SEA 

The  first  rocket  was  swept  down  the  wind  to 
leeward  of  the  wreck.  The  chief  officer  judged 
his  second  beautifully  and  the  line  fell  clean 
across  the  vessel  and  all  but  amidships.  A  figure 
started  up  from  the  lee  of  the  deckhouse  and 
springing  into  the  main  shrouds  grasped  it  and 
made  it  fast.  The  beach  being  too  low  for  them 
to  work  the  cradle  clear  above  the  breakers,  the 
coast-guardsmen  carried  the  shore  end  of  the  line 
up  the  shelving  cliff  and  fixed  it.  Within  ten 
minutes  the  cradle  was  run  out,  and  within  twen- 
ty, the  first  man  came  swinging  shoreward. 

Four  men  were  brought  ashore  alive,  the  cap- 
tain last.  The  other  two  of  the  crew  of  six  lay  on 
the  sands,  with  Mr.  Raymond  kneeling  beside 
them.  He  had  covered  their  faces,  and,  still  on 
his  knees,  gave  the  order  to  lift  them  into  the  car- 
riage. Taffy  noticed  that  he  was  obeyed  without 
demur  or  question.  And  there  flashed  on  his 
memory  a  gray  morning,  not  unlike  this  one, 
when  he  had  missed  his  father  at  breakfast :  "  He 
had  been  called  away  suddenly,"  Humility  had 
explained,  "  and  there  would  be  no  lessons  that 
day,"  and  had  kept  the  boy  indoors  all  the  morn- 
ing and  busy  with  a  netting-stitch  he  had  been 

bothering  her  to  teach  him. 

163 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  Father,"  he  asked  as  they  followed  the  cart, 
"  does  this  often  happen?  " 

'^  Your  mother  hasn't  thought  it  well  for  you 
to  see  these  sights." 

"  Then  it  has  happened  often?  " 

"  I  have  buried  seventeen,"  said  Mr.  Ray- 
mond. 

That  afternoon  he  showed  Taffy  their  graves. 
"  I  know  the  names  of  all  but  two.  The  bodies 
have  marks  about  them — tattooed,  you  know — 
and  that  helps.  And  I  write  to  their  relatives  or 
friends,  and  restore  whatever  small  property 
may  be  found  on  them.  I  have  often  wished  to 
put  up  some  grave-stone,  or  a  wooden  cross,  with 
their  names.  I  keep  a  book  and  enter  all  particu- 
lars, and  where  each  is  laid." 

He  went  to  his  chest  in  the  vestry  and  took  out 
the  volume — a  cheap  account  book,  ruled  for  fig- 
ures.   Taffy  turned  over  the  pages. 

Nov.  3rd.  187 — .  Brig  '^  James  and  Maria:"" 
J.  D.,  fair-haired,  height  5  ft.  8  in.,  marked  on 
chest  with  initials  and  cross  swords,  tattooed, 
also  anchor  and  coil  of  rope  on  right  fore-arm: 
large  hroiv?i  mole  on  right  shoulder-hlade. 
Striped  fiannel  drawers:  othenvise  naked:  no 
property  of  any  kind. 

164 


VOICES    FROM    THE    SEA 

Ditto.  Grown  man,  age  JfO  or  thereabouts: 
dark;  iron  gray  heard;  lovers^  knot  tattooed  on 
right  fore-arm,  with  initials  R.  L.,  E.  W.,  in  the 
loops:  clad  in  flannel  shirt,  guernsey,  trousers 
(blue  sea-cloth),  socks  (heather-mixture),  all  un- 
marked. Silver  chain  in  pocket,  with  free- 
mason's token:  a  half-crown,  a  florin,  and  four- 
pence and  so  on.    On  the  opposite  page  were 

entered  the  full  names  and  details  afterward 
discovered,  with  notes  of  the  Vicar's  correspond- 
ence, and  position  of  the  grave. 

"  They  ought  to  have  grave-stones,"  said  Mr. 
Eaymond.  "  But  as  it  is  I  can  only  get  about 
thirty  shillings  for  the  funeral  from  the  county 
rate.  The  balance  has  come  out  of  my  pocket — 
from  two  to  three  pounds  for  each.  From  the  be- 
ginning the  Squire  refused  to  help  to  bury  sailors. 
He  took  the  ground  that  it  wasn't  a  local  claim." 

"Hullo!  "  said  Taffy:  for  as  he  turned  the 
leaves  his  eye  fell  on  this  entry : — 

Jan.  30th,  187—.     8.  S.  "Rifleman''  (all 

hands).    Cargo,  China-clay:  W.  P.,  Age,  about 

eighteen,    fair   skin,    reddish   hair,   short   and 

curled,  height  5  ft.  10%  in.    Initials  tattooed  on 

chest  under  a  three-masted  ship  and  semi-circle 

of  seven  stars;  clad  in  flannel  singlet  and  trou- 

165 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

sers  (cloth) :   singlet  marked  with  same  initial 
in  red  cotton:  pockets  empty 

"  But  he  was  in  the  Navy!  "  cried  Taffy,  with 
his  finger  on  the  entry. 

"Which  one?  Yes,  he  was  in  the  l^avy. 
You'll  see  it  on  the  opposite  page.  He  deserted, 
poor  boy,  in  Cork  Harbor,  and  shipped  on  board 
a  tramp  steamer  as  donkey-man.  She  loaded  at 
Fowey  and  was  wrecked  on  the  voyage  back. 
William  Pellow  he  was  called;  his  mother  lives 
but  ten  miles  up  the  coast;  she  never  heard  of  it 
until  six  weeks  after." 

"  But  we — I,  I  mean — knew  him.  He  was 
one  of  the  sailor  boys  on  Toby's  van.  You  re- 
member their  helping  us  with  the  luggage  at 
Indian  Queen'' sf  He  showed  me  his  tattoo 
marks  that  day." 

And  again  he  saw  his  childhood  as  it  were  set 
about  with  an  enchanted  hedge,  across  which 
many  voices  would  have  called  to  him,  and  some 
from  near,  but  all  had  hung  muted  and  arrested. 

The  inquest  on  the  two  drow^ned  sailors  was 
held  next  day  at  the  Fifteen  Balls,  down  in  Innis 
village.  Later  in  the  afternoon,  the  four  sur- 
\dvors  walked  up  to  the  church,  headed  by  the 
Captain. 

166 


VOICES    FEOM    THE    SEA 

"  We've  been  hearing,"  said  tlie  Captain,  "  of 
your  difficulties,  sir:  likewise  your  kindness  to 
other  poor  sea-faring  chaps.  We  have  liked  to 
make  ye  a  small  offering  for  your  church,  but 
sixteen  shillings  is  all  we  can  raise  between  us. 
So  we  come  to  say  that  if  you  can  put  us  on  to  a 
job,  why  we're  staying  over  the  funeral,  and  a 
day's  work  or  more  after  that  won't  hurt  us  one 
way  or  another." 

Mr.  Raymond  led  them  to  the  chancel  and 
pointed  out  a  new  beam,  on  which  he  and  Jacky 
Pascoe  had  been  working  a  week  past,  and  over 
which  they  had  been  cudgelling  their  brains  how 
to  get  it  lifted  and  fixed  in  place. 

"  I  can  send  to  one  of  the  miners  and  borrow  a 
couple  of  ladders." 

"  Ladders?  Lord  love  ye,  sir,  and  begging 
your  pardon,  we  don't  want  ladders.  With  a 
sling.  Bill,  hey? — and  a  couple  of  tackles.  You 
leave  it  to  we,  sir." 

He  went  off  to  turn  over  the  gear  salved  from 
his  vessel,  and  early  next  forenoon  had  the  ap- 
paratus rigged  up  and  ready.  He  was  obliged  to 
leave  it  at  this  point,  having  been  summoned 
across  to  Ealmouth,  to  report  to  his  agents.  His 
last  words  before  starting  were  addressed  to  his 

167 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

crew.  "  I  reckon  you  can  fix  it  now,  boys. 
There's  only  one  thing  more,  and  don't  you  for- 
get it:  any  man  that  wants  to  spit  must  go  out- 
side." 

That  afternoon  Taffy  learnt  for  the  first  time 
what  could  be  done  with  a  few  ropes  and  pulleys. 
The  seamen  seemed  to  spin  ropes  out  of  them- 
selves like  spiders.  By  three  o'clock  the  beam 
was  hoisted  and  fixed;  and  they  broke  off  work 
to  attend  their  shipmates'  funeral.  After  the  fu- 
neral they  fell  to,  again,  though  more  silently, 
and  before  nightfall  the  beam  shone  with  a  new 
coat  of  varnish. 

They  left  early  next  morning,  after  a  good 
deal  of  handshaking,  and  Taffy  looked  after  them 
wistfully  as  they  turned  to  wave  their  caps  and 
trudged  away  over  the  rise  toward  the  cross-roads. 
Away  to  the  left  in  the  wintry  sunshine,  a  speck 
of  scarlet  caught  his  eye  against  the  blue-gray  of 
the  town.  He  watched  it  as  it  came  slowly 
toward  him,  and  his  heart  leapt — yet  not  quite 
as  he  had  expected  it  to  leap. 

For  it  was  George  Vyell.     George  had  lately 

been  promoted  to  "  pink  "  and  made  a  gallant 

figure  on  his  strapping  gray  hunter.     For  the 

first  time  Taffy  felt  ashamed  of  his  working  suit 

168 


VOICES    FEOM    THE    SEA 

and  would  have  slipped  back  to  the  church.  But 
George  had  seen  him,  and  pulled  up. 

"Hullo!  "said  he. 

"  Hullo!  "  said  Taffy;  and,  absurdly  enough, 
could  find  no  more  to  say. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on?  " 

"  Oh,  I'm  all  right."  There  was  another 
pause.    "  How's  Honoria?  " 

"  Oh,  she's  all  right.  I'm  riding  over  there 
now;  they  meet  at  Tredinnis  to-day."  He 
tapped  his  boot  with  his  hunting  crop. 

"Don't  you  have  any  lessons  now?"  asked 
Taffy,  after  awhile. 

"Dear  me,  yes;  I've  got  a  tutor.  He's  no 
good  at  it.    But  what  made  you  ask?  " 

Really  Taffy  could  not  tell.  He  had  asked 
merely  for  the  sake  of  saying  something.  George 
pulled  out  a  gold  watch. 

"  I  must  be  getting  on.    Well,  good-by !  " 

"Good-by!" 

And  that  was  all. 


169 


XV 

taffy's   appkenticeship 

They  could  manage  the  carpentering  now. 
And  Jacky  Pascoe,  who  in  addition  to  his  other 
trades  was  something  of  a  glazier,  had  taken  the 
damaged  east  window  in  hand.  For  six  months 
it  had  remained  boarded  up,  darkening  the  chan- 
cel. Mr.  Raymond  removed  the  boards  and 
fixed  them  up  again  on  the  outside,  and  the 
Bryanite  worked  behind  them  night  after  night. 
He  could  only  be  spied  upon  through  two  lancet 
windows  at  the  west  end  of  the  church,  and  these 
they  curtained. 

But  what  continually  bothered  them  was  their 
ignorance  of  iron-work.  Staples,  rivets,  hinges 
were  for  ever  wanted.  At  length,  one  evening 
toward  the  end  of  March,  the  Bryanite  laid  down 
his  tools. 

"  Tell  'ee  what  'tis,  Parson.     You  must  send 

the  boy  to  someone  that'll  teach  'er  smithy-work. 

There's  no  sense  in  this  cold  hammering." 

170 


TAFFY'S    APFEENTICESHIP 

"  Wkeelwright  Hocken  holds  his  shop  and  cot- 
tage from  the  Squire." 

"  Why  not  put  the  boy  to  Mendarva  the 
Smith,  over  to  Benny  Beneath?  He's  a  first-rate 
workman." 

"  That  is  more  than  six  miles  away." 

"  No  matter  for  that.  There's  Joll's  Farm 
close  by ;  Farmer  JoU  would  board  and  lodge  'en 
for  nine  shilling  a  week,  and  glad  of  the  chance ; 
and  he  could  come  home  for  Sundays." 

Mr.  Raymond,  as  soon  as  he  reached  home, 
sat  down  and  wrote  a  letter  to  Mendarva  the 
Smith  and  another  to  Farmer  Joll.  Within  a 
week  the  bargains  were  struck,  and  it  was  settled 
that  Taffy  should  go  at  once. 

"  I  may  be  calling  before  long,  to  look  you 
up,"  said  the  Bryanite,  "  but  mind  you  do  no 
more  than  nod  when  you  see  me." 

Joll's  Farm  lay  somewhere  near  Carwithiel, 
across  the  moor  where  Taffy  had  gone  fishing 
with  George  and  Honoria.  On  the  Monday 
morning  when  he  stepped  through  the  white 
front  gate,  with  his  bag  on  his  shoulder,  and 
paused  for  a  good  look  at  the  building,  it  seemed 
to  him  a  very  comfortable  farmstead,  and  vastly 
superior  to  the  tumble-down  farms  around  JSTan- 

171 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

nizabuloe.  The  flagged  path,  which  led  up  to 
the  front  door  between  great  bunches  of  purple 
honesty,  was  swept  as  clean  as  a  dairy, 

A  dark-haired  maid  op'ened  the  door  and  led 
him  to  the  great  kitchen  at  the  back.  Hams 
wrapped  in  paper  hung  from  the  rafters,  and 
strings  of  onions.  The  pans  over  the  fireplace 
were  bright  as  mirrors,  and  through  the  open 
window  he  heard  the  voices  of  children  at  play  as 
well  as  the  clacking  of  poultry  in  the  townplace. 

"  I'll  go  and  tell  the  mistress,"  said  the  maid ; 
but  she  paused  at  the  door.  "  I  suppose  you  don't 
remember  me,  now?  " 

"  Is^,"  said  Taffy,  truthfully. 

"  My  name's  Lizzie  Pezzack.  You  was  with 
the  young  lady,  that  day,  when  she  bought  my 
doll.  I  mind  you  quite  well.  But  I  put  my  hair 
up  last  Easter,  and  that  makes  a  difference." 

"  Why,  you  were  only  a  child." 

"  I  was  seventeen  last  w^eek.  And — I  say,  do 
you  know  the  Bryanite,  over  to  Innis  ? — Preacher 
Jacky  Pascoe  ? " 

He  nodded,  remembering  the  caution  given 
him. 

"  I  got  salvation  off  him.  Master  and  mis'ess, 
they've  got  salvation  too;   but  they  take  it  very 

172 


TAFFY'S    APPRENTICESHIP 

quiet.  They're  very  fond  of  one  another ;  if  you 
please  one  you'll  please  both.  They  let  me  walk 
over  to  prayer-meetin'  once  a  week.  But  I  don't 
go  by  Mendarva's  shop — that's  where  you  work 
— though  'tis  the  shortest  way;  because  there's  a 
woman  buried  in  the  road  there,  with  a  stake 
through  her,  and  I'm  a  terrible  coward  for 
ghosts." 

She  paused  as  if  expecting  him  to  say  some- 
thing; but  Taffy  was  staring  at  a  "neck"  of 
corn,  elaborately  plaited,  which  hung  above  the 
mantle-shelf.  And  just  then  Mrs.  Joll  entered 
the  kitchen. 

Taffy — without  any  reason — had  expected  to 
see  a  middle-aged  house-wife.  But  Mrs.  Joll  was 
hardly  over  thirty;  a  shapely  woman,  with  a 
plain,  pleasant  face  and  auburn  hair,  the  wealth 
of  which  she  concealed  by  wearing  it  drawn 
straight  back  from  the  forehead  and  plaited  in 
the  severest  coil  behind.    She  shook  hands. 

"  You'll  like  a  drink  of  milk  before  I  show  you 
your  room? " 

Taffy  was  grateful  for  the  milk.  While  he 
drank  it,  the  voices  of  the  children  outside  rose 
suddenly  to  shouts  of  laughter. 

"  That  will  be  their  father  come  home,"  said 

173 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Mrs.  Joll  and  going  to  the  side-door  called  to 
him,  "  John,  put  the  children  down;  Mr.  Ray- 
mond's son  is  here." 

Mr.  Joll,  who  had  been  galloping  round  the 
farmyard  with  a  small  girl  of  three  on  his  back, 
and  a  boy  of  six  tugging  at  his  coat-tails,  pulled 
up,  and  wiped  his  good-natured  face. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  said  he,  coming  forward 
and  shaking  hands,  while  the  two  children  stared 
at  Taffy. 

After  a  minute,  the  boy  said,  "  My  name's 
Bob.    Come  and  play  horses,  too." 

Farmer  Joll  looked  at  Taffy  shyly.  "  Shall 
we?" 

"  Mr.  Raymond  will  be  tired  enough  already," 
his  wife  suggested. 

"Not  a  bit,"  declared  Taffy;  and  hoisting 
Bob  on  his  back,  he  set  off  furiously  prancing 
after  the  farmer. 

By  dinner-time  he  and  the  family  were  fast 
friends,  and  after  dinner  the  farmer  took  him  off 
to  be  introduced  to  Mendarva  the  Smith. 

Mendarva's  forge  stood  on  a  triangle  of  turf 

beside  the  high-road,  where  a  cart-track  branched 

off  to  descend  to  Joll's  Farm  in  the  valley.    And 

Mendarva  was  a  dark  giant  of  a  man  with  a  beard 

174 


TAFFY'S    APPRENTICESHIP 

like  those  you  see  on  the  statues  of  Nineveh. 
On  Sundays  he  parted  his  beard  carefully  and 
tied  the  ends  with  little  bows  of  scarlet  ribbon; 
but  on  week  days  it  curled  at  will  over  his  mighty 
chest.  He  had  one  assistant  whom  he  called 
"  the  Dane;  "  a  red-haired  youth  as  tall  as  him- 
self and  straighter  from  the  waist  down.  Men- 
darva's  knees  had  come  together  with  years  of 
poising  and  swinging  his  great  hammer, 

"  He's  little,  but  he'll  grow,"  said  he,  after 
eying  Taffy  up  and  do^vn.  "  Dane,  come  fore 
and  tell  me  if  we'll  make  a  workman  of  'en." 

The  Dane  stepped  forward  and  passed  his 
hands  over  the  boy's  shoulders  and  down  his  ribs. 
"  He's  slight,  but  he'll  fill  out.  Good  pair  o' 
shoulders.    Give's  hold  o'  your  hand,  my  son." 

Taffy  obeyed;  not  very  well  liking  to  be  han- 
dled thus. 

"  Hand  like  a  lady's.  Tidy  wrist,  though. 
He'll  do,  master." 

So  Taffy  was  passed,  given  a  leathern  apron, 

and  set  to  his  first  task  of  keeping  the  forge-fire 

raked  and  the  bellows  going,  while  the  hammers 

took  up  the  music  he  was  to  listen  to  for  a  year  to 

come. 

This  music  kept  the  day  merry;    and  beyond 

175 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 


the  window  along  the  bright  high-road  there  was 
usually  something  worth  seeing — farm-carts, 
jowters'  carts,  the  doctor  and  his  gig,  pedlars  and 
Johnny-fortnights,  the  miller's  wagons  from  the 
valley-bottom  below  Joll's  Farm,  and  on  Tues- 
days and  Fridays,  the  market  van  going  and  re- 
turning. Mendarva  knew  or  speculated  upon 
everybody,  and,  with  half  the  passers-by,  broke 
off  work  and  passed  the  time  of  day,  leaning  on 
his  hammer.  But  down  at  the  farm  all  was 
strangely  quiet,  in  spite  of  the  children's  voices; 
and  at  night  the  quietness  positively  kept  Taffy 
awake,  listening  to  the  pur-r  of  the  pigeons  in 
their  cote  against  the  house-wall,  thinking  of  his 
grandmother  awake  at  home  and  hearkening  to 
the  tick-tack  of  her  tall  clock.  Often  when  he 
woke  to  the  early  summer  daybreak  and  saw 
through  his  attic-window  the  gray  shadows  of 
the  sheep,  still  and  long,  on  the  slope  above  the 
farmstead,  his  ear  was  wanting  something,  ask- 
ing for  something;  for  the  murmur  of  the  sea 
never  reached  this  inland  valley.  And  he  would 
lie  and  long  for  the  chirruping  of  the  two  chil- 
dren in  the  next  room  and  the  drawing  of  bolts 
and  clatter  of  milk-pails  below  stairs. 

He  had  a  plenty  to  eat,  and  that  plenty  simple 

176 


TAFFY'S    APPRENTICESHIP 

and  good;  and  clean  linen  to  sleep  between. 
The  kitchen  was  his,  except  on  Saturday  nights, 
when  Mrs.  Joll  and  Lizzie  tubbed  the  children 
there;  and  then  he  would  carry  his  books  off  to 
the  best  parlor,  or  stroll  around  the  farm  with  Mr. 
Joll  and  discuss  the  stock.  There  were  no  loose 
rails  in  Mr.  Joll's  gates,  no  farm  implements  ly- 
ing out  in  the  weather  to  rust.  Mr.  Joll  worked 
early  and  late,  and  his  shoulders  had  a  tell-tale 
stoop — for  he  was  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  per- 
haps some  five  years  older  than  his  wife. 

One  Saturday  evening  he  unburdened  his 
heart  to  Taffy.  It  happened  at  the  end  of  the 
hay-harvest,  and  the  two  were  leaning  over  a 
gate  discussing  the  yet  unthatched  rick. 

"  What  I  say  is,"  declared  the  farmer,  quite 
inconsequently,  "  a  man  must  be  able  to  lay  his 
troubles  'pon  the  Lord,  I  don't  mean  his  work, 
but  his  troubles;  and  go  home  and  shut  the  door 
and  be  happy  with  his  wife  and  children.  Now 
I  tell  you  that  for  months — iss,  years — after  Bob 
was  born,  I  kept  plaguing  myself  dn  the  fields, 
thinking  that  some  harm  might  have  happened 
to  the  child.  Why,  I  used  to  make  an  excuse  and 
creep  home,  and  then  if  I  see'd  a  blind  pulled 
down,  you  wouldn't  think  how  my  heart  'd  go 

177 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

thump;  and  I'd  stand  wi'  my  hand  on  the  door- 
hapse  an'  say,  '  If  so  be  the  Lord  have  took'n,  I 
must  go  and  comfort  Susan — not  my  will  but 
Thine,  Lord — but.  Lord,  don't  'ee  be  cruel  this 
time!  '  And  then  find  the  cheeld  right  as  nine- 
pence  and  the  blind  only  pulled  down  to  keep  the 
sun  off  the  carpet !  After  awhile  my  wife  guessed 
what  was  wrong — I  used  to  make  up  such  poor 
twiddling  pretences.  She  said,  '  Look  here,  the 
Lord  and  me  '11  see  after  Bob;  and  if  you  can't 
keep  to  your  own  work  without  poking  your  nose 
into  ours,  then  I  married  for  worse  and  not  for 
better.'  Then  it  came  upon  me  that  by  leaving 
the  Lord  to  look  after  my  job  I'd  been  treating 
Him  like  a  farm-laborer.  It's  the  things  you 
can't  help  He  looks  after — not  the  work." 

A  few  evenings  later  there  came  a  knock  at 
the  door,  and  Lizzie,  who  went  to  open  it, 
returned  with  the  Bryanite  skipping  behind 
her. 

"  Blessings  be  upon  this  here  house! "  he  cried, 
cutting  a  sort  of  double-shuffle  on  the  threshold. 
He  shook  hands  with  the  farmer  and  his  wife, 
and  nodded  toward  Taffy.  "  So  you've  got  Par- 
son Raymond's  boy  here !  " 

Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Joll;    and  turned  to  Taffy, 

178 


i( 


TAFFY'S    APPEENTICESHIP 

"  He've  come  to  pray  a  bit ;  perhaps  you  would 
rather  be  in  the  parlor?  " 

Taffy  asked  to  be  allowed  to  stay;  and  pres- 
ently Mr.  Pascoe  had  them  all  down  on  their 
knees.  He  began  by  invoking  God's  protection 
on  the  household;  but  his  prayer  soon  ceased  to 
be  a  prayer.  It  broke  into  ejaculations  of  praise 
— "  Friends,  I  be  too  happy  to  ask  for  anything 
— Glory,  glory!  The  blood!  The  precious 
blood!  O  deliverance!  O  streams  of  redemp- 
tion running!  "  The  farmer  and  his  wife  began 
to  chime  in— "Hallelujah!"  "Glory!"  and 
Lizzie  Pezzack  to  sob.  Taffy,  kneeling  before  a 
kitchen  chair,  peeped  between  his  palms  and 
saw  her  shoulders  heaving. 

The  Bryanite  sprang  to  his  feet,  overturning 
the  settle  with  a  crash.  "  Tid'n  no  use.  I  must 
skip.    Who'll  dance  wi' me?  " 

He  held  out  his  hands  to  Mrs.  Joll.  She  took 
them,  and  skipped  once  shame-facedly.  Lizzie, 
with  flaming  cheeks,  pushed  her  aside.  "  Leave 
me  try,  mis'ess;  I  shall  die  if  I  don't."  She 
caught  the  preacher's  hands,  and  the  two  leapt 
about  the  kitchen.  "  I  can  dance  higher  than 
mis'ess!  I  can  dance  higher  than  mis'ess!  " 
Farmer  Joll  looked  on  with  a  dazed  face.    "  Hal- 

179 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

lelujali!  "  "  Amen!  "  he  said  at  intervals,  quite 
mechanically.  The  pair  stood  under  the  bacon 
rank  and  began  to  whirl  like  dervishes — hands 
clasped,  toes  together,  bodies  leaning  back  and 
almost  rigid.  They  whirled  until  Taffy's  brain 
whirled  with  them. 

With  a  louder  sob,  Lizzie  let  go  her  hold,  and 
tottered  back  into  a  chair,  laughing  hysterically. 
The  Bryanite  leaned  against  the  table,  panting. 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Mrs.  Joll  took  a  nap- 
kin from  the  dresser  and  fell  to  fanning  the  girl's 
face,  then  to  slapping  it  briskly.  "  Get  up  and 
lay  the  table,"  she  commanded;  "  the  preacher'll 
stay  to  supper." 

"  Thank  'ee,  ma'am,  I  don't  care  if  I  do," 
said  he;  and  ten  minutes  later  they  were  all 
seated  at  supper  and  discussing  the  fall  in  wheat 
in  the  most  matter-of-fact  voices.  Only  their 
faces  twitched,  now  and  again. 

"  I  hear  you  had  the  preacher  down  to  Joll's 
last  night,"  said  Mendarva  the  Smith.  "  What'st 
think  of 'en?" 

"  I  can't  make  him  out,"  was  Taffy's  colorless 
but  truthful  answer. 

"  He's  a  bellows  of  a  man.  I  do  hear  he's  heat- 
ing up  th'  old  Squire  Moyle's  soul,  to  knack  an 

180 


TAFFY'S    APPRENTICESHIP 

angel  out  of  'en.  He'll  find  that  a  job  and  a  half. 
You  mark  my  words,  there'll  be  Hamlet's  ghost 
over  in  your  parish  one  o'  these  days." 

During  work-hours  Mendarva  bestowed  most 
of  his  talk  on  Taffy.  The  Dane  seldom  opened 
his  lips,  except  to  join  in  the  Anvil  Chorus — 

Here  goes  one — 

Sing,  sing,  Johnny! 

Here  goes  two- 
Sing,  Johnny,  sing! 

Whaclt'n  till  he's  red 

Whack'n  till  he's  dead 

And  whop  !  goes  the  widow  with  a 
brand  new  ring ! 

and  when  the  boy  took  a  hammer  and  joined  in, 
he  fell  silent.  Taffy  soon  observed  that  a  singu- 
lar friendship  knit  these  two  men,  who  were  both 
unmarried.  Mendarva  had  been  a  famous  wres- 
tler in  his  day,  and  his  great  ambition  now  was  to 
train  the  other  to  win  the  County  belt.  Often, 
after  work,  the  pair  would  try  a  hitch  together 
on  the  triangle  of  turf,  with  Taffy  for  stickler; 
Mendarva  illustrating  and  explaining,  the  Dane 
nodding  seriously  whenever  he  understood,  but 
never  answering  a  word.  Afterward  the  boy  re- 
called these  bouts  very  vividly — the  clear  even- 

181 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

ing  sky,  the  shoulders  of  the  two  big  men  shin- 
ing against  the  level  sun  as  they  gripped  and 
swayed,  their  long  shadows  on  the  grass  under 
which  (as  he  remembered)  the  poor  self-mur- 
dered woman  lay  buried. 

He  thought  of  her  at  night,  sometimes,  as  he 
worked  alone  at  the  forge:  for  Mendarva  al- 
lowed him  the  keys  and  use  of  the  smithy  over- 
time, in  consideration  of  a  small  payment  for 
coal.  And  then  he  blew  his  fire  and  hammered, 
with  a  couple  of  candles  on  the  bench  and  a 
Homer  between  them;  and  beat  the  long  hex- 
ameters into  his  memory.  The  incongruity 
of  it  never  struck  him.  He  was  going  to  be  a 
great  man,  and  somehow  this  was  going  to  be  the 
way.  These  scraps  of  iron — these  tools  of  his 
forging — were  to  grow  into  the  arms  and  shield 
of  Achilles.  In  its  own  time  would  come  the 
magic  moment,  the  shield  find  its  true  circum- 
ference and  swing  to  the  balance  of  his  arm, 
proof  and  complete. 

iv  8'  iridei  irorafJiOio  fj.fya  adeyos  'fl/ceacojo 
livTvya  vap  wfidTijv  craKeos  irvKU  irotrtroio.     , 


182 


XVI 

LIZZIE    AND    HONOEIA 

His  apprenticeship  lasted  a  year  and  six 
months,  and  all  this  while  he  lived  with  the  Jolls, 
walking  home  every  Sunday  morning  and  re- 
turning every  Sunday  night,  rain  or  shine.  He 
carried  his  deftness  of  hand  into  his  new  trade, 
and  it  was  Mendarva  who  begged  and  obtained 
an  extension  of  the  time  agreed  on.  "  Rather 
than  lose  the  boy  I'll  tache  'en  for  love."  So 
Taffy  stayed  on  for  another  six  months. 

He  was  now  in  his  seventeenth  year — a  boy  no 
longer.  One  evening,  as  he  blew  up  his  smithy 
fire,  the  glow  of  it  fell  on  the  form  of  a  woman 
standing  just  outside  the  window  and  watching 
him.  He  had  no  silly  fears  of  ghosts;  but  the 
thought  of  the  buried  woman  flashed  across  his 
mind  and  he  dropped  his  pincers  with  a  clatter. 

"  'Tis   only   me,"   said   the   woman.      "  You 

needn't  to  be  afeared."    And  he  saw  it  was  the 

girl  Lizzie. 

183 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

She  stepped  inside  the  forge  and  seated  her- 
self on  the  Dane's  anvil, 

"  I  was  walking  back  from  prayer-meeting," 
she  said,  "  'Tis  nigher  this  way,  but  I  don't 
ever  dare  to  come.  Might,  I  dessay,  if  I'd  some- 
body to  see  me  home." 

"  Ghosts?  "  asked  Taffy,  picking  up  the  pin- 
cers and  thrusting  the  bar  back  into  the  hot  cin- 
ders, 

"  I  dunno;  I  gets  frightened  o'  the  very  shad- 
ows on  the  road  sometimes.  I  suppose,  now, 
you  never  walks  out  that  way  ?  " 

"Which  way?" 

"  Why,  toward  where  your  home  is.  That's 
the  way  I  comes." 

"No,  I  don't,"  Taffy  blew  at  the  cinders 
until  they  glowed  again.  "  It's  only  on  Sundays 
I  go  over  there." 

"  That's  a  pity,"  said  Lizzie,  candidly.  "  I'm 
kept  in,  Sunday  evenings,  to  look  after  the  chil- 
dren while  farmer  and  mis'ess  goes  to  Chapel. 
That's  the  agreement  I  came  'pon." 

Taffy  nodded. 

"  It  would  be  nice  now,  wouldn't  it — "     She 

broke  off,  clasping  her  knees  and  staring  at  the 

blaze. 

184 


LIZZIE    AND    HONOEIA 

"  What  would  be  nice?  " 

Lizzie  laughed  confusedly.  "  Aw,  you  make 
me  say  't.  I  can't  abear  any  of  the  young  men 
up  to  the  Chapel.    If  me  and  you " 

Taffy  ceased  blowing.  The  fire  died  down  and 
in  the  darkness  he  could  hear  her  breathing  hard. 

"  They're  so  rough,"  she  went  on.  "  And 
t'other  night  I  met  young  Squire  Vyell  riding 
along  the  road,  and  he  stopped  me  and  wanted 
to  kiss  me." 

"  George  Yyell?  Surely  he  didn't?  "  Taffy 
blew  up  the  fire  again. 

"  Iss  he  did.    I  don't  see  why  not,  neither." 

"  "Why  he  shouldn't  kiss  you?  " 

"  Why  he  shouldn't  want  to." 

Taffy  frowned,  carried  the  white  hot  bar  to  his 
anvil  and  began  to  hammer.  He  despised  girls, 
as  a  rule,  and  their  ways.  Decidedly  Lizzie  an- 
noyed him:  and  yet  as  he  worked  he  could  not 
help  glancing  at  her  now  and  then,  as  she  sat  and 
watched  him.  By  and  by  he  saw  that  her  eyes 
were  full  of  tears. 

"  What's  the  matter?  "  he  asked,  abruptly. 

"  I — I  can't  walk  home  alone.    I'm  afeared." 

He  tossed  his  hammer  aside,  raked  out  the 

fire,  and  reached  his  coat  off  its  peg.     As  he 

185 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAKS 

swimg  round  in  the  darkness  to  put  it  on,  he 
blundered  against  Lizzie  or  Lizzie  blundered 
against  him.    She  clutched  at  him  nervously. 

"  Clumsy!   can't  you  see  the  doorway?  " 

She  passed  out,  and  he  followed  and  locked  the 
door.  As  they  crossed  the  turf  to  the  highroad, 
she  slipped  her  arm  into  his.  "  I  feel  safe,  that 
way.  Let  it  stay,  co!  "  After  a  few  paces,  she 
added,  "  You're  different  from  the  others — 
that's  why  I  like  you." 

"How?" 

"I  dunno;  but  you  he  diff'rent.  You  don't 
think  about  girls,  for  one  thing." 

Taffy  did  not  answer.  He  felt  angry,  ashamed, 
uncomfortable.  He  did  not  turn  once  to  look  at 
her  face,  dimly  visible  by  the  light  of  the  young 
moon — the  Hunter's  moon — now  sinking  over 
the  slope  of  the  hill.  Thick  dust — too  thick  for 
the  heavy  dew  to  lay — covered  the  cart-track 
down  to  the  farm,  mufSing  their  footsteps.  Liz- 
zie paused  by  the  gate. 

"  Best  go  in  separate,"  she  said;  paused  again 
and  whispered,  "  You  may,  if  you  like." 

"  May  do  what?  " 

"  What — what  young  Squire  Vyell  wanted." 

They  were  face  to  face  now.    She  held  up  her 

186 


LIZZIE    AND    HONORIA 

lips,  and  as  she  did  so,  they  parted  in  an  amorous 
murmurous  little  laugh.  The  moonlight  was  on 
her  face.    Taffy  bent  swiftly  and  kissed  her. 

"  Oh,  you  hurt!  "  With  another  little  laugh, 
she  slipped  up  the  garden-path  and  into  the  house. 

Ten  minutes  later  Taffy  followed,  hating  him- 
self. 

For  the  next  fortnight  he  avoided  her;  and 
then,  late  one  evening,  she  came  again.  He  was 
prepared  for  this,  and  had  locked  the  door  of  the 
smithy  and  let  down  the  shutter  while  he  worked. 
She  tapped  upon  the  outside  of  the  shutter  with 
her  knuckles. 

"Let  me  in!" 

"  Can't  you  leave  me  alone  ?  "  he  answered, 
pettishly.    "  I  want  to  work,  and  you  interrupt." 

"  I  don't  w^ant  no  love-making — I  don't  in- 
deed. I'll  sit  quiet  as  a  mouse.  But  I'm  afeared, 
out  here." 

"  Nonsense !  " 

"  I'm  afeared  o'  the  ghost.  There's  something 
comin' — let  me  in,  co!  " 

Taffy  unlocked  the  door  and  held  it  half  open 
while  he  listened. 

"  Yes,  there's  somebody  coming,  on  horseback. 

187 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

ISTow,  look  here — it's  no  gliost,  and  I  can^t  have 
you  about  here,  with  people  passing.  I — I  don't 
want  you  here  at  all;  so  make  haste  and  slip 
away  home,  that's  a  good  girl." 

Lizzie  glided  like  a  shadow  into  the  dark  lane 
as  the  trample  of  hoofs  drew  close,  and  the  rider 
pulled  up  beside  the  door. 

"  You're  working  late,  I  see.  Is  it  too  late  to 
make  a  shoe  for  Aide-de-camp  here  ?  " 

It  was  Honoria.  She  dismounted  and  stood  in 
the  doorway,  holding  her  horse's  bridle. 

"  1^0,"  said  Taffy;  "  that  is,  if  you  don't  mind 
the  waiting." 

With  his  leathern  apron  he  wiped  the  Dane's 
anvil  for  a  seat,  while  she  hitched  up  Aide- 
de-camp  and  stepped  into  the  glow  of  the  forge- 
fire. 

"  The  hounds  took  us  six  miles  beyond  Car- 
withiel:  and  there,  just  as  they  lost.  Aide-de- 
camp cast  his  off-hind  shoe.  I  didn't  find  it  out 
at  first,  and  now  I've  had  to  walk  him  all  the  way 
back.    Are  you  alone  here  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Who  was  that  I  saw  leaving  as  I  came  up?  " 

"  You  saw  someone?  " 

"  Yes."    She  nodded,  looking  him  straight  in 

188 


LIZZIE    AND    HONOEIA 

the  face.  "  It  looked  like  a  woman.  Who  was 
she?" 

"  That  was  Lizzie  Pezzaek,  the  girl  who  sold 
you  her  doll,  once.  She's  a  servant  down  at  the 
farm  where  I  lodge." 

Honoria  said  no  more  for  the  moment,  but 
seated  herself  on  the  Dane's  anvil,  while  Taffy 
chose  a  bar  of  iron  and  stepped  out  to  examine 
Aide-de-camp's  hoof.  He  returned  and  in  si- 
lence began  to  blow  up  the  fire. 

"  I  dare  say  you  were  astonished  to  see  me," 
she  remarked  at  length. 

"  Yes." 

"  I'm  still  forbidden  to  speak  to  you.  The 
last  time  I  did  it,  grandfather  beat  me." 

"  The  old  brute!  "  Taffy  nipped  the  hot  iron 
savagely  in  his  pincers. 

"  I  wonder  if  he'll  do  it  again.  Somehow  I 
don't  think  he  will." 

Taffy  looked  at  her.  She  had  drawn  herself 
up,  and  was  smiling.  In  her  close  riding-habit 
she  seemed  very  slight,  yet  tall,  and  a  woman 
grown.  He  took  the  bar  to  the  anvil  and  began 
to  beat  it  flat.  His  teeth  were  shut,  and  with 
every  blow  he  said  to  himself,  "  Brute!  " 

"  That's  beautiful,"  Honoria  went  on.     "  I 

189 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

stopped  Mendarva,  the  other  day,  and  he  told  me 
wonders  about  you.  He  says  he  tried  you  with  a 
hard-boiled  egg  and  you  swung  the  hammer  and 
chipped  the  shell  all  round  without  bruising  the 
white  a  bit.    Is  that  true?  " 

Taffy  nodded. 

"  And  your  learning — the  Latin  and  Greek,  I 
mean ;  do  you  still  go  on  with  it  ?  " 

He  nodded  again,  toward  a  volume  of  Eu- 
ripides that  lay  open  on  the  work-bench. 

"  And  the  stories  you  used  to  tell  George  and 
me;  do  you  go  on  telling  them  to  yourself?  " 

He  was  obliged  to  confess  that  he  never  did. 
She  sat  for  awliile  watching  the  sparks  as  they 
flew.  Then  she  said,  "  I  should  like  to  hear  you 
tell  one  again.  That  one  about  Aslog  and  Orm, 
who  ran  away  by  night  across  the  ice-fields  and 
took  a  boat  and  came  to  an  island  with  a  house  on 
it,  and  found  a  table  spread  and  the  fire  lit,  but 
no  inliabitants  anywhere — You  remember?  It 
began  '  Once  upon  a  time,  not  far  from  the  city 
of  Drontheim,  there  lived  a  rich  man '  " 

Taffy  considered  a  moment  and  began,  "  Once 
upon  a  time,  not  far  from  the  city  of  Dront- 
heim  "     He   paused,    eyed   the   horse-shoe 

cooling  between  the  pincers,  and  shook  his  head. 

190 


LIZZIE    AND    HONORIA 

It  was  no  use.  Apollo  had  been  too  long  in 
service  with  Admetus,  and  the  tale  would  not 
come. 

"  At  any  rate,"  Honoria  persisted,  "  you  can 
tell  me  something  out  of  your  books:  something 
you  have  just  been  reading." 

So  he  began  to  tell  her  the  story  of  Ion,  and 
managed  well  enough  in  describing  the  boy  and 
how  he  ministered  before  the  shrine  at  Delphi, 
sweeping  the  temple  and  scaring  the  birds  away 
from  the  precincts;  but  when  he  came  to  the 
plot  of  the  play  and,  looking  up,  caught  Hon- 
oria's  eyes,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  all 
the  rest  of  the  story  was  a  sensual  one  and  he 
could  not  tell  it  to  her.  He  blushed,  faltered, 
and  finally  broke  down. 

"  But  it  was  beautiful,"  said  she,  "  so  far  as  it 
went;  and  it's  just  what  I  wanted.  I  shall  re- 
member that  boy  Ion  now,  whenever  I  think  of 
you  helping  your  father  in  the  church  at  home. 
If  the  rest  of  the  story  is  not  nice,  I  don't  want  to 
hear  it." 

How  had  she  guessed  ?    It  was  delicious,  at  any 

rate,  to  know  that  she  thought  of  him,  and  Taffy 

felt  how  delicious  it  was,  while  he  fitted  and 

hammered  the  shoe  on  Aide-de-camp's  hoof,  she 

191 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

standing  by  with  a  candle  in  either  hand,  the 
flame  scarcely  quivering  in  the  windless  night. 

When  all  was  done,  she  raised  a  foot  for  him 
to  give  her  a  mount.  "  Good-night!  "  she  called, 
shaking  the  reins.  Taffy  stood  by  the  door  of  the 
forge,  listening  to  the  echoes  of  Aide-de-camp's 
canter,  and  the  palm  of  his  hand  tingled  where 
her  foot  had  rested. 


192 


XVII 


THE    squire's    weird 


He  took  leave  of  Mendarva  and  the  Jolls  just 
before  Christmas.  The  smith  was  unaffectedly 
sorry  to  lose  him.  "  But,"  said  he,  "  the  Dane 
will  be  entered  for  the  Championship  next  sum- 
mer, so  I  s'pose  I  must  look  forward  to  that." 

Everyone  in  the  Joll  household  gave  him  a 
small  present  oh  his  leaving.  Lizzie's  was  a  New 
Testament,  with  her  name  on  the  fly-leaf,  and 
under  it  "  Converted,  April  19,  187—."  Taffy 
did  not  want  the  gift,  but  took  it  rather  than  hurt 
her  feelings. 

Farmer  Joll  said,  "  Well,  wish  'ee  well !  Been 
pretty  comfiable,  I  hope.  Now  you'm  goin',  I 
don't  mind  telling  'ee  I  didn't  like  your  coming 
a  bit.  But  now  'tis  wunnerful  to  me  you've  been 
wi'  us  less  than  two  year' ;  we've  made  such  prog- 


ress." 


At  home  Taffy  bought  a  small  forge  and  set 

it  up  in  the  church,  at  the  west  end  of  the  north 

193 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

aisle.  Mr.  Eaymond,  under  his  direction,  had 
been  purchasing  the  necessary  tools  for  some 
months  past ;  and  now  the  main  expense  was  the 
cost  of  coal,  which  pinched  them  a  little.  But 
they  managed  to  keep  the  fire  alight,  and  the 
work  went  forward  briskly.  Save  that  he  still 
forbade  the  parish  to  lend  them  the  least  help, 
the  old  Squire  had  ceased  to  interfere. 

Mr.  Raymond's  hair  was  grayer;  and  Taffy 
might  have  observed — but  did  not — how  readily, 
toward  the  close  of  a  day's  laborious  carpentry, 
he  would  drop  work  and  turn  to  Dindorf's  Poetce 
Scenici  Grceci,  through  which  they  were  reading 
their  way.  On  Sundays,  the  congregation  rarely 
numbered  a  dozen.  It  seemed  that  as  the  end  of 
the  Vicar's  task  drew  nearer,  so  the  prospect  of 
filling  the  church  receded  and  became  more 
shadowy.  And  if  his  was  a  queer  plight,  Jacky 
Pascoe's  was  a  queerer.  The  Bryanite  continued 
to  come  by  night  and  help,  but  at  rarer  intervals. 
He  was  discomforted  in  mind,  as  anyone  could 
see;  and  at  length  he  took  Mr.  Raymond  aside 
and  made  confession. 

"  I  must  go  away;  that's  what  'tis.  My  bur- 
den is  too  great  for  me  to  bear." 

"  Why,"  said  Mr.  Raymond,  who  had  grown 

194 


THE    SQUIRE'S    WEIED 

surprisingly  tolerant  during  the  past  twelve 
months,  "  what  cause  have  you,  of  all  men,  to 
feel  dejected?  You  can  set  the  folk  here  on  fire 
like  flax."    He  sighed. 

"  That's  azackly  the  reason — I  can  set  'em 
afire  with  a  breath ;  but  I  can't  hold  'em  under. 
I  make  'em  too  strong  for  me — and  Fm  afeard. 
Parson,  dear,  it's  the  gospel  truth ;  for  two  years 
I've  a  been  strivin'  agen  myself,  wrastlin'  upon 
my  knees,  and  all  to  hold  this  parish  in."  He 
mopped  his  face.  "  'Tis  like  fightin'  with  beasts 
at  Ephesus,"  he  said. 

"  Do  you  want  to  hold  them  in?  " 

"  I  do  and  I  don't.  I've  got  to  try,  anyway. 
Sometimes  I  tell  mysel'  'tis  putting  a  hand  to  the 
plough  and  turning  back ;  and  then  I  reckon  I'll 
go  on.  But  when  the  time  comes,  I  can't.  I'm 
afeard,  I  tell  'ee."  He  paused.  "  I've  laid  it  be- 
fore the  Lord,  but  He  don't  seem  to  help. 
There's  two  voices  inside  o'  me.  'Tis  a  terrible 
responsibility." 

"  But  the  people,  what  are  you  afraid  of  their 
doing? " 

"  I  don't  know.  You  don't  know  what  a  run- 
away boss  will  do,  but  you're  afeard   all   the 

same."     He  sank  his  voice.     "  There's  wanton- 

195 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

ness,  for  one  thing — six  love-children  born  in  the 
parish  this  year,  and  more  coming.  They  do  say 
that  Vashti  Clemow  destroyed  her  child.  And 
Old  Man  Johns — him  they  found  dead  on  the 
rocks  under  the  Island — he  didn't  go  there  by 
accident.    'Twas  a  calm  day,  too." 

As  often  as  not  Taffy  worked  late — sometimes 
until  midnight — and  blew  his  forge-fire  alone  in 
the  church,  the  tap  of  his  hammer  making  hollow 
music  in  the  desolate  aisles.  He  was  working 
thus  one  windy  night  in  February,  when  the  door 
rattled  open  and  in  walked  a  totally  unexpected 
visitor — Sir  Harry  Vyell. 

"Good-evening!  I  was  riding  by  and  saw 
your  light  in  the  windows  dancing  up  and  down. 
I  thought  I  would  hitch  up  the  mare  and  drop 
in  for  a  chat.    But  go  on  with  your  work." 

Taffy  wondered  what  had  brought  him  so  far 

from  his  home  at  that  time  of  night,  but  asked 

no  questions.     And  Sir  Harry  placed  a  hassock 

on  one  of  the  belfry  steps  and,  taking  his  seat, 

watched  for  awhile  in  silence.    He  wore  his  long 

riding  boots    and  an  overcoat  with  the  collar 

turned  up  about  a  neck-cloth  less  nattily  folded 

than  usual. 

"  I  wish,"  he  said  at  length,  "  that  my  boy 

196 


THE    SQUIRE'S    WEIED 

George  was  clever  like  you.  You  were  great 
friends  once — you  remember  Plymouth,  hey? 
But  I  dare  say  you've  not  seen  much  of  each 
other  lately." 

Taffy  shook  his  head. 

"  George  is  a  bit  wild.  Oxford  might  have 
done  something  for  him;  made  a  man  of  him,  I 
mean.  But  he  wouldn't  go.  I  believe  in  wild 
oats  to  a  certain  extent.  I  have  told  him  from 
the  first  he  must  look  after  himself  and  decide 
for  himself.  That's  my  theory.  It  makes  a 
youngster  self-reliant.  He  goes  and  comes  as  he 
likes.  If  he  comes  home  late  from  hunting,  I 
ask  no  questions;  I  don't  wait  dinner.  Don't 
you  agree  with  me?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  Taffy  answered,  wondering 
why  he  should  be  consulted. 

"  Self-reliance  is  what  a  man  wants." 

"  Couldn't  he  have  learnt  that  at  school  ?  " 

Sir  Harry  fidgeted  with  the  riding-crop  in  his 

hands.     "  Well,  you  see,  he's  an  only  son . 

I  dare  say  it  was  selfish  of  me.  You  don't  mind 
my  talking  about  George?  " 

Taffy  laughed.    "  I  like  it." 

Sir  Harry  laughed  too,  in  an  embarrassed  way. 

"  But  you  don't  suppose  I  rode  over  from  Car- 

107 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAKS 

withiel  for  that?  You're  not  so  far  wrong, 
though.  The  fact  is — one  gets  foolish  as  one 
grows  old — George  went  out  hunting  this  morn- 
ing, and  didn't  turn  up  for  dinner.  I  kept  to  my 
rule,  and  dined  alone.  Nine  o'clock  came ;  half- 
past;  no  George.  At  ten  Hoskings  locked  up  as 
usual,  and  off  I  went  to  bed.  But  I  couldn't 
sleep.  After  awhile,  it  struck  me  that  he  might 
be  sleeping  here  over  at  Tredinnis;  that  is,  if  no 
accident  had  happened.  No  sleep  for  me  until  I 
made  sure;  so  I  jumped  out,  dressed,  slipped 
down  to  the  stables,  saddled  the  mare  and  rode 
over.  I  left  the  mare  by  Tredinnis  great  gates 
and  crept  down  to  Moyle's  stables  like  a  house- 
breaker; looked  in  through  the  window,  and, 
sure  enough,  there  was  George's  gray  in  the  loose 
box  to  the  right.  So  George  is  sleeping  there, 
and  I'm  easy  in  my  mind.  No  doubt  you  think 
me  an  old  fool  ?  " 

But  Taffy  was  not  thinking  anything  of  the 
sort. 

"  I  couldn't  wish  better  than  that.  You  under- 
stand ?  "  said  Sir  Harry,  slyly. 

"  Not  quite." 

"  He  lost  his  mother  early.  He  wants  a  wom- 
an to  look  after  him,  and  for  him  to  think  about. 

198 


THE    SQUIEE'S    WEIRD 

If  he  and  Honoria  would  only  make  up  a  match". 
.  .  .  And  Carwithiel  would  be  quite  a  different 
house." 

Taffy  hesitated,  with  a  hand  on  the  forge-bel- 
lows. 

"  I  dare  say  it's  news  to  you,  what  I'm  telling. 
But  it  has  been  in  my  mind  this  long  while. 
"Why  don't  you  blow  up  the  fire?  I  bet  Miss 
Honoria  has  thought  of  it,  too;  girls  are  deep. 
She  has  a  head  on  her  shoulders.  I'll  warrant 
she'd  send  half  a  dozen  of  my  servants  packing 
within  a  week.  As  it  is,  they  rob  me  to  a  stair. 
I  know  it,  and  I  haven't  the  pluck  to  interfere." 

"  What  does  the  old  Squire  say?  "  Taffy  man- 
aged to  ask. 

"  It  has  never  come  to  saying  anything.  But 
I  believe  he  thinks  of  it,  too,  when  he  happens  to 
think  of  anything  but  his  soul.  He'll  be  pleased; 
everyone  will  be  pleased.  The  properties  touch, 
you  see." 

"  I  see." 

"  To  tell  you  the  truth,  he's  failing  fast.    This 

religion  of  his  is  a  symptom;    all  of  his  family 

have  taken  to  it  in  the  end.     If  he  hadn't  the 

constitution  of  a  horse,  he'd  have  been  converted 

ten  years  before  this.     What  puzzles  me  is,  he's 

19U 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

so  quiet.  You  mark  my  words" — Sir  Harry 
rose,  buttoned  his  coat  and  shook  his  riding-crop 
prophetically — "  he's  brewing  up  for  something. 
There'll  be  the  devil  of  a  flare-up  before  he  has 
done." 

It  came  with  the  midsummer  bonfires.  At 
nine  o'clock  on  St.  John's  Eve,  Mr.  Raymond 
read  prayers  in  the  church.  It  was  his  rule  to 
celebrate  thus  the  vigils  of  all  saints  in  the  Eng- 
lish calendar  and  some  few  Cornish  saints  be- 
sides; and  he  regularly  announced  these  services 
on  the  preceding  Sundays;  but  no  parishioner 
dreamed  of  attending  them. 

To-night,  as  usual,  he  and  Taffy  had  prayed 
alone;  and  the  lad  was  standing  after  service  at 
the  church  door,  with  his  surplice  on  his  arm  (for 
he  always  wore  a  surplice  and  read  the  lessons  on 
these  vigils),  when  the  flame  of  the  first  bonfire 
shot  up  from  the  headland  over  Innis  village. 

Almost  on  the  moment  a  flame  answered  it 

from  the  point  where  the  lighthouse  stood;    and 

within  ten  minutes  the  horizon  of  the  towans 

was  cressetted  with  these  beacon-fires;    surely 

(thought  Taffy)   with  many  more  than  usual. 

And   he   remembered   that   Jacky   Pascoe   had 

200 


THE    SQUIEE'S    WEIRD 

thrown  out  a  hint  of  a  great  revival  to  be  held  on 
Baal-fire  ISTight  (as  he  had  called  it). 

The  night  was  sultry  and  all  but  windless. 
For  once  the  tormented  sands  had  rest.  The 
flame  of  the  bonfires  shone  yellow — orange-yel- 
low— and  steady.  He  could  see  the  dark  figures 
of  men  and  women  passing  between  him  and  the 
nearest,  on  the  high  wastrel  in  front  of  Tredinnis 
great  gates.  Their  voices  reached  him  in  a  con- 
fused murmur,  broken  now  and  then  by  a  child's 
scream  of  delight.  And  yet  a  hush  seemed  to 
hang  over  sea  and  land:  an  expectant  hush. 
Eor  weeks  the  sky  had  not  rained.  Day  after 
day,  a  dull  indigo  blue  possessed  it,  deepening 
with  night  into  duller  purple,  as  if  the  whole 
heavens  were  gathering  into  one  big  thunder- 
cloud, which  menaced  but  never  broke.  And  in 
the  hush  of  those  nights  a  listener  could  almost 
fancy  he  heard,  between  whiles,  the  rabbits  stir- 
ring uneasily  in  their  burrows. 

By  and  by  the  bonfire  on  the  wastrel  appeared 

to  be  giving  out  sparks  of  light  which  blazed 

independently;    yet  without  decreasing  its  own 

volume  of  flame.      The  sparks  came  dancing, 

nearer  and  larger;  the  voices  grew  more  distinct. 

The  spectators  had  kindled  torches  and  were  ad- 

201 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

vancing  in  procession  to  visit  other  bonfires.  The 
torches,  too,  were  supposed  to  bless  the  fields  they 
passed  across. 

The  procession  rose  and  sank  as  it  came  over 
the  uneven  ridges  like  a  fiery  snake;  topped  the 
nearest  ridge  and  came  pouring  down  past  the 
churchyard  wall.  At  its  head  danced  Lizzie 
Pezzack,  shrieking  like  a  creature  possessed,  her 
hair  loose  and  streaming,  while  she  whirled  her 
torch.  Taffy  knew  these  torches;  bundles  of 
canvas  steeped  in  tar  and  fastened  in  the  middle 
to  a  stout  stick  or  piece  of  chain.  Lizzie's  was 
fastened  to  a  chain,  and  as  he  watched  her  up- 
lifted arm  swinging  the  blazing  mass  he  found 
time  to  wonder  how  she  escaped  setting  her  hair 
on  fire.  Other  torch-bearers  tossed  their  arms  and 
shouted  as  they  passed.  The  smoke  was  suffocat- 
ing, and  across  the  patch  of  quiet  graveyard  the 
heat  smote  on  Taffy's  face.  But  in  the  crowd  he 
saw  two  figures  clearly — Jacky  Pascoe  and 
Squire  Moyle;  and  the  Bryanite's  face  was  agi- 
tated and  white  in  the  glare.  He  had  given  an 
arm  to  the  Squire,  who  was  clearly  the  centre  of 
the  procession,  and  tottered  forward  with  jaws 
working  and  cavernous  eyes. 

"  He's  saved!  "  a  voice  shouted. 

202 


THE    SQUIRE'S    WEIRD 

Others  took  up  the  cry.  "  Saved!  "  "  The 
Squire's  saved !  "  "  Saved  to-night — saved  to 
glory!" 

The  Squire  paused,  still  leaning  on  the  Bryan- 
ite's  arm.  While  the  procession  swayed  around 
him,  he  gazed  across  the  gate,  as  a  man  who  had 
lost  his  bearings.  No  glint  of  torchlight  reached 
his  eyes;  but  the  sight  of  Mr.  Raymond's  sur- 
pliced  figure,  standing  behind  Taffy's  shoulders 
in  the  full  glare,  seemed  to  rouse  him.  He  lifted 
a  fist  and  shook  it  slowly. 

"  Com'st  along,  sir!  "  urged  the  Bryanite. 

But  the  Squire  stood  irresolute,  muttering  to 
himself. 

"  Com'st  along,  sir!  " 

"  Lev'  me  be,  I  tell  'ee !  "  He  laid  both  hands 
on  the  gate  and  spoke  across  it  to  Mr.  Raymond, 
his  head  nodding  while  his  voice  rose. 

"  D'ee  hear  what  they  say?  I'm  saved.  I'm 
the  Squire  of  this  parish,  and  I'm  going  to 
Heaven.  I  make  no  Account  of  you  and  your 
church.  Old  Satan's  the  fellow  I'm  after,  and 
I'm  going  to  have  him  out  o'  this  parish  to-night 
or  my  name's  not  Squire  Moyle." 

"  That's  of  it.  Squire!  "  "  Hunt  'en!  "  "  Out 

with  'en!  " 

203 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

He  turned  on  the  slionting  throng. 

"  Hunt  'en  ?  Iss  fay  I  will !  Come  along, 
boys — back  to  Tredinnis!  No,  no  " — this  to  the 
Bryanite — "  we'll  go  back.  I'll  show  'ee  sport, 
to-night — we'll  hunt  th'  ould  Divvle  by  scent  and 
view^  I'm  Squire  Moyle,  ain't  I?  And  I've  a 
pack  o'  hounds,  ha'n't  I?  Back,  boys — back,  I 
tell'ee!" 

Lizzie  Pezzack  swung  her  torch.  "  Back — 
back  to  Tredinnis !  "  The  crowd  took  up  the  cry, 
"  Back  to  Tredinnis!  "  The  old  man  shook  off 
the  Bryanite's  hand,  and  as  the  procession 
wheeled  and  re-formed  itself  confusedly,  rushed 
to  the  head  of  it,  waving  his  hat — 

"  Back!— Back  to  Tredinnis!  " 

"  God  help  them,"  said  Mr.  Raymond ;  and 
taking  Taffy  by  the  arm,  drew  him  back  into  the 
church. 

The  shouting  died  away  up  the  road.  For 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  father  and  son  worked 
in  silence.  The  reddened  sky  shed  its  glow  gen- 
tly through  the  clear  glass  windows,  suffusing 
the  shadows  beneath  the  arched  roof.  And,  in 
the  silence,  the  lad  wondered  what  was  happen- 
ing up  at  Tredinnis. 

204 


THE    SQUIEE'S    WEIRD 

Jim  the  Whip  took  oath  afterward  that  it  was 
no  fault  of  his.  He  had  suspected  three  of  the 
hounds  for  a  day  or  two — Chorister,  White  Boy, 
and  Bellman — and  had  separated  them  from  the 
pack.  That  very  evening  he  had  done  the  same 
with  Eifler,  who  was  chewing  at  the  straw  in  a 
queer  fashion  and  seemed  quarrelsome.  He  had 
said  nothing  to  the  Squire,  whose  temper  had 
been  ugly  for  a  week  past.  He  had  hoped  it  was 
a  false  alarm — had  thought  it  better  to  wait,  and 
so  on. 

The  Squire  went  down  to  the  Kennels  with  a 
lantern,  Jim  shivering  behind  him.  They  had 
their  horses  saddled  outside  and  ready;  and  the 
crowd  was  waiting  along  the  drive  and  up  by  the 
great  gates.  The  Squire  saw  at  a  glance  that  two 
couples  were  missing,  and  in  two  seconds  had 
their  names  on  his  tongue.  He  was  like  a  mad- 
man. He  shouted  to  Jim  to  open  the  doors. 
"  Better  not,  maister!  "  pleaded  Jim.  The  old 
man  cursed,  smote  him  across  the  neck  with  the 
butt-end  of  his  whip,  and  unlocked  the  doors 
himself.  Jim,  though  half-stunned,  staggered 
forward  to  prevent  him,  and  took  another  blow 
which  felled  him.  He  dropped  across  the  thresh- 
old of  Chorister's  kennel,  the  doors  of  all  opened 

205 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

outwards,  and  the  weight  of  his  body  kept  this 
one  shut.  But  he  saw  the  other  three  hounds 
run  out — saw  the  Squire  turn  with  a  ghastly  face, 
drop  the  lantern  and  run  for  it  as  White  Boy 
snapped  at  his  boot.  Jim  heard  the  crash  of  the 
lantern  and  the  snap  of  teeth,  and  with  that  he 
fainted  off  in  the  darkness.  He  had  cut 
his  forehead  against  the  bars  of  the  big 
kennel,  and  when  he  came  to  himself,  one  of  the 
hounds  was  licking  his  face  through  the  grat- 
ing. 

Men  told  for  years  after  how  the  old  Squire 
came  up  the  drive  that  night,  hoof  to  belly;  his 
chin  almost  on  mare  Nonesuch's  neck;  his  face 
like  a  man's  who  hears  hell  cracking  behind  him; 
and  of  the  three  dusky  hounds  which  followed 
(the  tale  said)  with  clapping  jaws  and  eyes  like 
coach-lamps. 

Down  in  the  quiet  church  Taffy  heard  the  out- 
cry, and,  laying  down  his  plane,  looked  up  and 
saw  that  his  father  had  heard  it  too.  His  mild 
eyes,  shining  through  his  spectacles,  asked,  as 
plainly  as  words:  "  What  was  that?  " 

"Listen!" 

206 


THE    SQUIRE'S    WEIRD 

Eor  a  minute — two  minutes — they  heard 
nothing  more.  Then  out  of  the  silence  broke  a 
rapid,  muffled  beat  of  hoofs;  and  Mr.  Eaymond 
clutched  Taffy's  arm  as  a  yell — a  cry  not  human, 
or  if  human,  insane — ripped  the  night  as  you 
might  rip  linen,  and  fetched  them  to  their  feet. 
Taffy  gained  the  porch  first,  and  just  at  that  mo- 
ment a  black  shadow  heaved  itself  on  the  church- 
yard wall  and  came  hurling  over  with  a  thud — 
a  clatter  of  dropping  stones — then  a  groan. 

Before  they  could  grasp  what  was  happening, 
the  old  Squire  had  extricated  himself  from  the 
fallen  mare,  and  came  staggering  across  the 
graves. 

"Hide  me! " 

He  came  with  both  arms  outstretched,  his  face 
turned  sideways.  Behind  him,  from  the  far  side 
of  the  wall,  came  sounds — horrible  shuffling 
sounds,  and  in  the  dusk  they  saw  the  head  of  one 
of  the  hounds  above  the  coping  and  his  fore- 
paws  clinging  as  he  strained  to  heave  himself 
over. 

"Save  me!    Save " 

They  caught  him  by  both  arms,  dragged  him 
"within  and  slammed  the  door. 

"Save! sa~!  " 

207 


TPIE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

The  word  ended  with  a  thud  as  he  pitched 
headlong  on  the  slate  pavement.  Through  the 
barred  door,  the  scream  of  the  mare  Nonesuch 
answered  it. 


208 


XVIII 

THE    BAKEIEKS    FALL 

There  were  marks  of  teeth  on  his  right  boot, 
but  no  marks  at  all  on  his  body.  Fright — or 
fright  following  on  that  evening's  frenzy — had 
killed  him. 

He  was  buried  three  days  later,  and  Mr.  Ray- 
mond read  the  service.  No  rain  had  fallen,  and 
the  blood  of  the  three  hounds  still  stained  the 
gravel  dividing  the  grave  from  the  porch,  where 
the  crowd  had  shot  them  down. 

For  awhile  his  death  made  small  difference  to 
the  family  at  the  Parsonage.  They  had  fought 
the  shadow  of  his  enmity  and  proved  it  for  what 
it  was;  a  shadow  and  little  else.  But  they  had 
scarcely  realized  their  success,  and  wondered 
why  the  removal  of  the  shadow  did  not  affect 
them  more. 

About  this  time  Taffy  began  to  carry  out  a 

scheme  which  he  and  his  father  had  often  dis- 

209 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

cussed,  but  hitherto  had  found  no  leisure  for — 
the  setting  up  of  wooden  crosses  on  the  graves 
of  the  drowned  sailormen.  They  had  wished 
for  slate :  but  good  slate  was  expensive  and  hard 
to  come  by,  and  Taffy  had  no  skill  in  stone-cut- 
ting. Since  wood  it  must  be,  he  resolved  to  put 
his  best  work  into  it.  The  names,  etc.,  should 
be  engraved,  not  painted  merely.  Some  of  the 
pew-fronts  in  the  church  had  panels  elaborately 
carved  in  flat  and  shallow  relief — fine  Jacobean 
designs,  all  of  them.  He  took  careful  rubbings 
of  the  narrowest,  made  tracings,  and  set  to  work 
to  copy  them  on  the  face  of  his  crosses. 

One  afternoon,  some  three  weeks  after  the 
Squire's  funeral,  he  happened  to  return  to  the 
house  for  a  tracing  which  he  had  forgotten,  and 
found  Honoria  seated  in  the  kitchen  and  talking 
with  his  father  and  mother.  She  was  dressed  in 
black,  of  course,  and  either  this  or  the  solemnity 
of  her  visit  gave  her  quite  a  grown-up  look. 
But  to  be  sure,  she  was  mistress  of  Tredinnis 
now,  and  a  child  no  longer. 

Taffy  guessed  the  meaning  of  her  visit  at  once. 
And  no  doubt  this  act  of  formal  reconciliation 
between  Tredinnis  House  and  the  Parsonage 
had  cost  her  some  nervousness.     When  he  en- 

210 


THE    BARRIERS    FALL 

tered  his  parents  stood  up  and  seemed  just  as 
awkward  as  their  visitor.  "  Another  time,  per- 
haps," he  heard  his  father  saj.  Honoria  rose  al- 
most at  once,  and  would  not  stay  to  drink  tea, 
though  Humility  pressed  her. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  Taffy  next  day,  looking  up 
from  his  Virgil,  "  I  suppose  Miss  Honoria  wants 
to  make  friends  now,  and  help  on  the  restora- 
tion?" 

Mr.  Raymond,  who  was  on  his  knees  fasten- 
ing a  loose  hinge  in  a  pew-door,  took  a  screw 
from  between  his  lips. 

"  Yes,  she  proposed  that." 

"  It  must  be  splendid  for  you,  dad!" 

"  I  don't  quite  see,"  answered  Mr.  Raymond, 
with  his  head  well  inside  the  pew. 

Taffy  stood  up,  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets, 
and  took  a  turn  up  and  down  the  aisle. 

"  Why,"  said  he,  coming  to  a  halt,  "  it  means 
that  you  have  won.  It's  victory,  dad,  and  /  call 
it  glorious!  "  His  lip  trembled.  He  wanted  to 
put  a  hand  on  his  father's  shoulder,  as  any  other 
comrade  would.  But  his  abominable  shyness 
stood  between. 

"  We  won  long  ago,  my  boy."  And  Mr.  Ray- 
mond wheeled  roimd  on  his  knees,  pushed  up 

211 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

his  spectacles,  and  quoted  the  famous  lines,  very 
solemnly  and  slowly : 

And  not  by  eastern  windows  only, 

When  daylight  comes,  comes  in  the  light ; 

In  front  the  sun  climbs  slow,  how  slowly, 
But  westward,  look,  the  land  is  bright. 

"  I  see,"  Taffy  nodded.  "  And— I  say,  that's 
jolly.    Who  wrote  it?  " 

"  A  man  I  used  to  see  in  the  streets  of  Ox- 
ford, and  always  turned  to  stare  after:  a  man 
with  big  oddly  shaped  feet  and  the  face  of  a  god 
— a  young  tormented  god.  Those  were  days 
when  young  men's  thoughts  tormented  them. 
Taffy,"  he  asked,  abruptly,  "  should  you  like  to 
go  to  Oxford? " 

"  Don't,  father!  "  The  boy  bit  his  lip  to  keep 
back  the  tears.  "  Talk  of  something  else — 
something  cheerful.  It  has  been  a  splendid 
fight,  just  splendid!  And  now  it's  over  I'm  al- 
most sorry." 

"What  is  over?" 

"  AVell,  I  suppose — now  that  Honoria  wants 

to  help — we  can  hire  workmen  and  have  the 

whole  job  finished  in  a  month  or  two  at  farthest: 

and  you " 

212 


THE    BARMERS    FALL 

Mr.  Raymond  stood  up,  and  leaning  against  a 
bench-end  examined  the  thread  of  the  screw  be- 
tween his  fingers. 

"  That  is  one  way  of  looking  at  it,  no  doubt," 
he  said,  slowly;  "  and  I  hope  God  will  forgive 
me  if  I  have  put  my  own  pride  before  His  ser- 
vice. But  a  man  desires  to  leave  some  completed 
work  behind  him:  something  to  which  people 
may  point  and  say,  '  he  did  it.'  There  was  my 
book,  now:  for  years  I  thought  that  was  to  be 
my  work.  But  God  thought  otherwise  and — to 
correct  my  pride,  perhaps — set  me  to  this  task 
instead.  To  set  a  small  forsaken  country  church 
in  order  and  make  it  worthy  of  His  presence — 
that  is  not  the  mission  I  should  have  chosen. 
But  so  be  it:  I  have  accepted  it.  Only,  to  let 
others  step  in  at  the  last  and  finish  even  this — I 
say  He  must  forgive  me,  but  I  cannot." 

"  Your  book  .  .  .  you  can  go  back  to  it 
and  finish  it." 

"  I  have  burnt  it." 

''Dad!" 

"  I  burned  it.    I  had  to.    It  was  a  temptation 

to  me,  and  until  I  lifted  it  from  the  grate  and 

the  flakes  crumbled  in  my  hands,  the  surrender 

was  not  complete." 

213 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Taffy  felt  a  sudden  gush  of  pity.  And  as  he 
pitied,  suddenly  he  understood  his  father. 

"  It  had  to  be  complete?  " 

"  Either  the  book  or  the  surrender.  My  boy  " 
— and  in  his  voice  there  echoed  the  aspiration 
and  the  despair  of  the  true  scholar  who  abhors 
imperfection  and  incompleteness  in  a  world 
where  nothing  is  either  perfect  or  complete,  "  it 
is  different  with  you.  I  borrowed  you,  so  to  say, 
for  the  time.  Without  you  I  must  have  failed ; 
but  this  was  never  your  work.  For  myself,  I 
have  been  humble  and  learnt  my  lesson;  but, 
please  God,  you  shall  be  my  Solomon  and  be 
granted  a  temple  to  build." 

Taffy  had  lost  his  shyness  now.  He  laid  a 
hand  on  his  father's  sleeve. 

"  We  will  go  on,  then." 

"  Yes,  we  will  go  on." 

"AndJacky?  Where  has  he  been?  I  haven't 
seen  him  since  the  Squire  died." 

Mr.  Raymond  searched  in  his  coat-pocket  and 
handed  over  a  crumpled  letter.     It  ran: — 

"  Dear  friend. — This  is  to  say  that  you  will 
not  see  me  no  more.  The  dear  Lord  tells  me  I 
have  made  a  cauch  of  it.     He  don't  sav  how, 

214 


THE    BARRIERS    FALL 

all  He  says  is  go  and  do  better  somewheres 
else. 

"  Seems  to  me  a  terrable  thing  to  think  Re- 
ligion can  be  bad  for  any  man.  It  have  done 
me  such  powars  of  good.  The  late  Moyle  esq 
he  was  like  a  dirty  pan  all  the  milk  turned  sour 
no  matter  what.  Dear  friend  I  pored  Praise  into 
him  and  it  come  out  Prayer  and  all  for  him  self. 
But  the  dear  Lord  says  I  was  to  blame  as  much 
as  Moyle  esq  so  must  do  better  next  time  but 
feel  terrable  timid. 

"  My  respects  to  Masi:  Taffy.  Dear  friend  I 
done  my  best  I  come  like  Nicodemus  by  night. 
Seeming  to  me  when  Christians  fall  out  tis  over 
what  they  pray  for.  When  they  praise  God  for- 
get diff°"^  and  I  cant  think  where  the  quaral- 
ing  comes  in  and  so  no  more  at  present  from 

"  Yours  resp*''.^ 

"  J.  Pascoe." 

After  supper  that  night,  in  the  Parsonage 
kitchen,  Humility  kept  rising  from  her  chair, 
and  laying  her  needlework  aside  to  re-arrange 
the  pans  and  kettles  on  the  hearth.  This  rest- 
lessness was  so  unusual  that  Taffy,  seated  in  the 
ingle  with  a  book  on  his  knee,  had  half  raised  his 

215 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

head  to  twit  her  when  he  felt  a  hand  laid  softly 
on  his  hair,  and  looked  up  into  his  mother's  eyes. 

"  Taffy,  should  you  like  to  go  to  Oxford? " 

"Don't,  mother!" 

"  But  you  can."  The  tears  in  her  eyes  an- 
swered his  at  once.  She  turned  to  his  father. 
"  Tell  him " 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  you  can  go,"  said  Mr.  Kay- 
mond;  "  that  is,  if  you  can  win  a  scholarship. 
Your  mother  and  I  have  been  talking  it  over." 

"  But — "  Taffy  began  and  could  get  no 
farther.  He  knew  nothing  of  his  parents'  affairs 
except  that  they  were  poor:  he  had  always  sup- 
posed, almost  desperately  poor. 

"  We  have  money  enough,  with  care,"  said 
Mr.  Raymond. 

But  the  boy's  eyes  were  on  his  mother.  Her 
cheeks,  usually  so  pale,  were  flushed;  but  she 
turned  her  face  away  and  walked  slowly  back 
to  her  chair.  "  The  lace-work,"  he  heard  her 
say:  "  I  have  been  saving  .  .  .  from  the  be- 
ginning  " 

"  For  this?  "  He  followed  and  took  her  hand. 
With  the  other  she  covered  her  eyes;  but 
nodded. 

"  O  mother — mother!  "    He  knelt  and  let  his 

216 


THE    BARRIERS    FALL 

brow  drop  on  her  lap.  She  ceased  to  weep;  her 
palms  rested  on  his  bowed  head,  but  now  and 
then  her  body  shook  with  a  sob  that  would  not 
be  restrained.  And  but  for  the  ticking  of  the 
tall  clock  there  was  silence  in  the  room. 

It  was  wonderful ;  and  the  wonder  of  it  grew 
when  they  recovered  themselves  and  fell  to  dis- 
cussing their  actual  plans.  In  spite  of  his  idola- 
try, Mr.  Kaymond  could  not  help  remembering 
certain  slights  which  he,  a  poor  miller's  son,  had 
undergone  at  Christ  Church.  He  had  chosen 
Magdalen,  which  Taffy  knew  to  be  the  most 
beautiful  of  all  the  colleges;  and  the  news  that 
his  name  had  been  entered  on  the  college  books 
for  years  past  gave  him  a  delicious  shock.  It 
was  now  July.  He  would  matriculate  in  the  Oc- 
tober term,  and  in  January  enter  for  a  demy- 
ship.  But  (the  marvels  followed  so  fast  on  each 
other's  heels)  there  would  be  an  examination 
held  in  ten  days'  time — actually  in  ten  days' 
time — a  "  Certificate  "  examination,  Mr.  Ray- 
mond called  it — which  would  excuse  the  boy  not 
only  the  ordinary  Matriculation  test,  but  Re- 
sponsions  too.  And,  in  short,  Taffy  was  to  pack 
his  box  and  go. 

"  But  the  subjects?  " 

217     • 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  You  have  been  reading  them  and  the  pre- 
scribed books  for  four  months  past.  And  I  have 
had  sets  of  the  old  papers  by  me  for  a  guide. 
Your  mathematics  are  shaky — but  I  think  you 
should  do  well  enough." 

It  was  now  Humility's  turn,  and  the  discus- 
sion plunged  among  shirts  and  collars.  Never 
had  evening  been  so  happy;  and  whether  they 
talked  of  mathematics  or  of  collars,  Taffy  could 
not  help  observing  how  from  time  to  time  his 
father's  and  mother's  eyes  would  meet  and  say, 
as  plainly  as  words,  "  We  have  done  rightly," 
"  Yes,  we  have  done  rightly." 

And  the  wonder  of  it  remained  next  morning, 
when  he  awoke  to  a  changed  world  and  took 
down  his  books  with  a  new  purpose.  Already 
his  box  had  been  carried  into  old  Mrs.  Venning's 
room,  and  his  mother  and  grandmother  were 
busy,  the  one  packing  and  repacking,  the  other 
making  a  new  and  important  suggestion  every 
minute. 

He  was  to  go  up  alone,  and  to  lodge  in  Trinity 
College,  where  an  old  friend  of  Mr.  Raymond's, 
a  resident  fellow  just  then  abroad  and  spending 
his  Long  Vacation  in  the  Tyrol,  had  placed  his 
own  room  at  the  boy's  service. 

218 


THE    BARRIERS    FALL 

To  see  Oxford — to  be  lodging  in  college !  He 
had  to  hug  his  mother  in  the  midst  of  her  pack- 
ing. 

"  You  will  be  going  by  the  Great  Western," 
she  said.  "  You  won't  be  seeing  Honiton  on 
your  way." 

When  the  great  morning  came,  Mr.  Raymond 
travelled  with  him  in  the  van  to  Truro,  to  see 
him  off.  Humility  went  upstairs  to  her  mother's 
room,  and  the  two  women  prayed  together. 

They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait. 


219 


XIX 

OXFORD 

"Eight  o'clock,  sir!" 

Taffy  heard  the  voice  speaking  above  a  noise 
which  his  dreams  confused  with  the  rattle  of  yes- 
terday's journey.  He  was  still  in  the  train,  rush- 
ing through  the  rich  levels  of  Somersetshire. 
He  saw  the  broad  horizon,  the  cattle  at  pasture, 
the  bridges  and  flagged  pools  flying  past  the  win- 
dow— and  sat  up,  rubbing  his  eyes.  Blenkiron, 
the  scout,  stood  between  him  and  the  morning 
sunshine,  emptying  a  can  of  water  into  the  tub 
beside  his  bed. 

Blenkiron  wore  a  white  waistcoat,  and  a  tie  of 
orange  scarlet  and  blue,  the  colors  of  the  College 
Servants  Cricket  Club.  These  were  signs  of  the 
Long  Vacation.  For  the  rest  his  presence  would 
have  become  an  archdeacon;  and  he  guided 
Taffy's  choice  of  a  breakfast  with  an  air  which 
suggested  the  hand  of  iron  beneath  the  glove  of 
velvet. 

220 


OXFORD 

"  And  begging  your  pardon,  sir,  but  will  you 
be  lunching  in  ?  " 

Tatfy  would  consult  Mr.  Blenkiron's  conven- 
ience. 

"  The  fact  is,  sir,  we've  arranged  to  play 
Teddy  'All  this  afternoon  at  Cowley,  and  the 
drag  starts  at  one-thirty  sharp." 

"  Then  I'll  get  my  lunch  out  of  college," 
said  Taffy,  wondering  who  Teddy  Hall  might 
be. 

"  I  thank  you,  sir.  I  had,  indeed,  took  the 
liberty  of  telling  the  manciple  that  you  was  not  a 
gentleman  to  give  more  trouble  than  you  could 
'elp.  Fried  sole,  pot  of  tea,  toast,  pot  of  black- 
berry jam,  commons  of  bread — "  Mr.  Blenk- 
iron  disappeared. 

Taffy  sprang  out  of  bed  and  ran  to  the  open 
window  in  the  next  room.  The  gardens  lay  be- 
low him — smooth  turf  flanked  with  a  border  of 
gay  flowers,  flanked  on  the  other  side  with  yews; 
and  beyond  the  yews,  with  an  avenue  of  limes; 
and  beyond  these,  with  tall  elms.  A  straight 
gravelled  walk  divided  the  turf.  At  the  end  of 
it  two  yews  of  magnificent  spread  guarded  a 
great  iron  gate.  Beyond  these  the  chimneys  and 
battlements    of    Wadham    College    stood    gray 

221 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAKS 

against  the  pale  eastern  sky,  and  over  them  the 
larks  were  singing. 

So  this  was  Oxford;  more  beautiful  than  all 
his  dreams.  And  since  his  examination  would 
not  begin  until  to-morrow,  he  had  a  whole  long- 
day  to  make  acquaintance  with  her.  Half  a 
dozen  times  he  had  to  interrupt  his  dressing  to 
run  and  gaze  out  of  the  window,  skipping  back 
when  he  heard  Blenkiron's  tread  on  the  staircase. 
And  at  breakfast  again  he  must  jump  up  and  ex- 
amine the  door.  Yes,  there  was  a  second  door 
outside — a  heavy  oak — just  as  his  father  had  de- 
scribed. What  stories  had  he  not  heard  about 
these  oaks!  He  was  handling  this  one  almost 
idolatrously  when  Blenkiron  appeared  suddenly 
at  the  head  of  the  stairs.  Blenkiron  was  good 
enough  to  explain  at  some  length  how  the  door 
worked;  while  Taffy,  who  did  not  need  his  in- 
struction in  the  least,  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his 
hair. 

For,  indeed,  it  was  like  first  love,  this  adora- 
tion of  Oxford;  shamefast,  shy  of  its  own  rapt- 
ures; so  shy,  indeed,  that  when  he  put  on  his  hat 
and  walked  out  into  the  streets  he  could  not 
pluck  up  courage  to  ask  his  way.  Some  of  the 
colleges  he  recognized  from  his  father's  descrip- 

222 


OXFORD 

tion:  of  one  or  two  he  discovered  the  names  by 
peeping  through  their  gateways  and  reading  the 
notices  pinned  up  by  the  porters'  lodges:  for  it 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  was  free  to  step 
inside  and  ramble  through  the  quadrangles.  He 
wondered  where  the  river  lay,  and  where  Mag- 
dalen, and  where  Christ  Church.  He  passed 
along  the  Turl,  and  down  Brasenose  Lane;  and 
at  the  foot  of  it,  beyond  the  great  chestnut-tree 
leaning  over  Exeter  wall,  the  vision  of  noble 
square,  the  dome  of  the  Radcliffe,  and  St.  Mary's 
spire  caught  his  breath  and  held  him  gasping. 

His  feet  took  him  by  the  gate  of  Brasenose 
and  across  the  High.  On  the  farther  pavement 
he  halted,  round-eyed,  held  at  gaze  by  the  beauty 
of  the  Virgin's  Porch  with  the  creeper  drooping 
like  a  veil  over  its  twisted  pillars.  High  up, 
white  pigeons  wheeled  round  the  spire,  or  flut- 
tered from  niche  to  niche,  and  a  queer  fancy 
took  him  that  they  were  the  souls  of  the  carved 
saints,  up  there,  talking  to  one  another  above  the 
city's  traffic.  At  length  he  withdrew  his  eyes, 
and  reading  the  name  "  Oriel  Street  "  on  an 
angle  of  the  wall  above  him,  passed  down  a  nar- 
row by-lane  in  search  of  further  wonders. 

The  clocks  were  striking  three  when,  after  re- 

223 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

gaining  tlie  High  and  luncliing  at  a  pastry-cook's, 
Taffy  turned  down  into  St.  Aldates  and  recog- 
nized Tom  Tower  ahead  of  him.  The  great 
gates  were  closed.  Through  the  open  wicket  he 
had  a  glimpse  of  green  turf  and  an  idle  foun- 
tain; and  while  he  peered  in  a  jolly-looking 
porter  stepped  out  of  the  lodge  for  a  breath  of  air 
and  nodded  in  the  friendliest  manner. 

"  You  can  walk  through,  if  you  want  to. 
Were  you  looking  for  anyone  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Taffy;  and  explained,  proudly, 
"  My  father  used  to  be  at  Christ  Church." 

The  porter  seemed  interested.  "  What 
name? "  he  asked. 

"  Raymond." 

"  That  must  have  been  before  my  time.  I 
suppose  you'll  be  wanting  to  see  the  Cathedral. 
That's  the  door — right  opposite." 

Taffy  thanked  him,  and  walked  across  the 
great  empty  quadrangle.  Within  the  Cathedral 
the  organ  was  sounding  and  pausing;  and  from 
time  to  time  a  boy's  voice  broke  in  upon  the 
music  like  a  flute,  the  pure  treble  rising  to  the 
roof  as  though  it  were  the  very  voice  of  the 
building  and  every  pillar  sustained  its  petition, 
'  Lord  have  mercy  upon  us,  and  -incline  our 

224 


OXFORD 

hearts  to  keep  this  law! "  Neither  organist  nor 
chorister  was  visible,  and  Taffy  tiptoed  along  the 
aisles  in  dread  of  disturbing  them.  For  the  mo- 
ment this  voice  adoring  in  the  noble  building 
expressed  to  him  the  completest,  the  most  per- 
fect thing  in  life.  All  his  own  boyish  handi- 
work, remember,  had  been  guided  under  his 
father's  eye  toward  the  worship  of  God. 

"...  and  incline  our  hearts  to  Jceep  this 
law.''  The  music  ceased.  He  heard  the  organ- 
ist speaking,  up  in  the  loft;  criticising,  no 
doubt:  and  it  reminded  him  somehow  of  the 
small  sounds  of  home  and  his  mother  moving 
about  her  house-work  in  the  hush  between  break- 
fast and  noon. 

He  stepped  out  into  the  sunlight  again,  and 
wandering  through  archway  and  cloister  found 
himself  at  length  beyond  the  college  walls  and 
at  the  junction  of  two  avenues  of  elms,  between 
the  trunks  of  which  shone  the  acres  of  a  noble 
meadow,  level  and  green.  The  avenues  ran  at 
a  right  angle,  east  and  south;  the  one  old,  with 
trees  of  magnificent  girth,  the  other  new  and 
interset  with  poplars. 

Taffy  stood  irresolute.    One  of  these  avenues, 

he  felt  sure,  must  lead  to  the  river;  but  which? 

225 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Two  old  gentlemen  stepped  out  from  tlie 
wicket  of  the  Meadow  Buildings,  and  passed 
him,  talking  together.  The  taller — a  lean  man, 
with  a  stoop — was  clearly  a  clergyman.  The 
other  wore  cap  and  gown,  and  Taffy  remarked, 
as  he  went  by,  that  his  cap  was  of  velvet;  and 
also  that  he  walked  with  his  arms  crossed  just 
above  the  Avrists,  his  right  hand  clutching  his 
left  cuff,  and  his  left  hand  his  right  cuff,  his  el- 
bows hugged  close  to  his  sides. 

After  a  few  paces  the  clergyman  paused,  said 
something  to  his  companion,  and  the  two  turned 
back  toward  the  boy. 

"  Were  you  wanting  to  know  your  way?  " 

"  I  was  looking  for  the  river,"  Taffy  an- 
swered. He  was  thinking  that  he  had  never  in 
his  life  seen  a  face  so  full  of  goodness. 

"  Then  this  is  your  first  visit  to  Oxford  ?  Sup- 
pose, now,  you  come  with  us?  and  we  will  take 
you  by  the  river  and  tell  you  the  names  of  the 
barges.  There  is  not  much  else  to  see,  I'm 
afraid,  in  Vacation  time." 

He  glanced  at  his  companion  in  the  velvet  cap, 
who  drew  down  an  extraordinarily  bushy  pair  of 
eyebrows  (yet  he,  too,  had  a  beautiful  face)  and 
seemed  to  come  out  of  a  dream. 

226 


OXFORD 

"  So  much  the  better,  boy,  if  you  come  up  to 
Oxford  to  worship  false  gods." 

Taffy  was  taken  aback. 

"  Eight  false  gods  in  little  blue  caps,  seated  in 
a  trough  and  tugging  at  eight  poles:  and  all  to 
discover  if  they  can  get  from  Putney  to  Mort- 
lake  sooner  than  eight  other  false  gods  in  little 
blue  caps  of  a  lighter  shade!  What  do  they  do 
at  Mortlake  when  they  get  there  in  such  a  hurry? 
Eh,  boy?" 

"  I — I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  stammered 
Taffy. 

The  clergyman  broke  out  laughing,  and 
turned  to  him.  "  Are  you  going  to  tell  us  your 
name?  " 

"  Raymond,  sir.  My  father  used  to  be  at 
Christ  Church." 

"  What?    Are  you  Sam  Raymond's  son?  " 

"  You  knew  my  father?  " 

"  A  very  little.  I  was  his  senior  by  a  year  or 
two.  But  I  know  something  about  him."  He 
turned  to  the  other.  "  Let  me  introduce  the  son 
of  a  man  after  your  own  heart — of  a  man  fight- 
ing for  God  in  the  wilds,  and  building  an  altar 
there  with  his  own  hands  and  by  the  lamp  of 

sacrifice." 

227 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  But  how  do  you  know  all  this? "  cried 
Taffy. 

"  Oh,"  the  old  clergyman  smiled,  "  we  are  not 
so  ignorant  up  here  as  you  suppose." 

They  walked  by  the  river-bank,  and  there 
Taffy  saw  the  college  barges  and  was  told  the 
name  of  each.  Also  he  saw  a  racing  eight  go  by : 
it  belonged  to  the  Vacation  Rowing  Club.  From 
the  barges  they  turned  aside  and  followed  the 
windings  of  the  Cherwell.  The  clergyman  did 
most  of  the  talking;  but  now  and  then  the  old 
gentleman  in  the  velvet  cap  interposed  a  ques- 
tion about  the  church  at  home,  its  architecture, 
the  materials  it  was  built  of,  and  so  forth;  or 
about  Taffy's  own  work,  his  carpentry,  his  ap- 
prenticeship with  Mendarva  the  Smith.  And  to 
all  these  questions  the  boy  found  himself  reply- 
ing with  an  ease  which  astonished  him. 

Suddenly  the  old  clergyman  said,  "  There  is 
your  College !  " 

And  unperceived  by  Taffy  a  pair  of  kindly 
eyes  watched  his  own  as  they  met  the  first  vision 
of  that  lovely  tower  rising  above  the  trees  and 
(so  like  a  thing  of  life  it  seemed)  lifting  its  pin- 
nacles exultantly  into  the  blue  heaven. 

"Well?" 

228 


OXFORD 

All  three  had  come  to  a  halt.  The  boy  turned, 
blushing  furiously. 

"  This  is  the  best  of  all,  sir." 

"  Boy,"  said  old  Yelvet-cap,  "  do  you  know 
the  meaning  of  '  edification  '  ?  There  stands 
your  lesson  for  four  years  to  come,  if  you  can 
learn  it  in  that  time.  Do  you  think  it  easy? 
Come  and  see  how  it  has  been  learnt  by  men  who 
have  spent  their  lives  face  to  face  with  it." 

They  crossed  the  street  by  Magdalen  bridge, 
and  passed  under  Pugin's  gateway,  by  the  Chapel 
door  and  into  the  famous  cloisters.  All  was 
quiet  here;  so  quiet  that  even  the  voices  of  the 
sparrows  chattering  in  the  ivy  seemed  but  a  part 
of  the  silence.  The  shadow  of  the  great  tower 
fell  across  the  grass,  on  which  (so  a  notice-board 
announced)  nobody  was  allowed  to  walk. 

"  This  is  how  one  generation  read  the  lesson. 
Come  and  see  how  another,  and  a  later,  read 
it." 

A  narrow  passage  led  them  out  of  gloom  into 
sudden  sunlight;  and  the  sunlight  spread  itself 
on  fair  grass-plots  and  gravelled  walks,  flower- 
beds and  the  pale  yellow  fagade  of  a  block  of 
buildings  in  the  classical  style,  stately  and  ele- 
gant, with  a  colonnade  which  only  needed  a  few 

22U 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAllS 

promenading  figures  in  laced  coats  and  tie-wigs 
to  complete  the  agreeable  picture. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  that?  " 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Taffy's  thoughts  had  run 
back  to  the  theatre  at  Plymouth  with  its  sudden 
changes  of  scenery.  And  he  stood  for  a  moment 
while  he  collected  them. 

'"  It's  different — that  is,"  he  added,  feeling 
that  this  was  lame,  "  it  means  something  differ- 
ent; I  cannot  tell  what." 

"  It  means  the  difference  between  godly  fear 
and  civil  ease,  between  a  house  of  prayer  and  one 
of  no-prayer.  It  spells  the  moral  change  which 
came  over  this  University  when  religion,  the 
spring  and  source  of  collegiate  life,  was  dis- 
carded. The  cloisters  behind  you  were  built  for 
men  who  walked  with  God." 

"  But  why,"  objected  Taffy,  plucking  up 
courage,  "  couldn't  they  do  that  in  the  sun- 
light?" 

Velvet-cap  opened  his  mouth.  The  boy  felt 
he  was  going  to  be  denounced;  when  a  merry 
laugh  from  the  old  clergyman  averted  the 
storm. 

"  Be  content,"  he  said  to  his  companion;  "  we 
are  Gothic  enough  in  Oxford  nowadays.     And 

230 


()\i'()i:n 

llir  liid  is  ii;'lil  luo.  Tlicn'  vvMS  li(t|»<'  «'V('ii  for 
rif'lilcciil  li  ((III  iiiv  M;i<'(lnl('ii  wliilc  ilH  Imildiii;';^ 
looked  on  siiiilijdil  mid  on  tli;il  lower.  We  liiy 
loo  iiMieli  MiresM  on  priiyer.  'I'lie  lei.hdii  ol  I  lint 
lower  (Willi  :ill  deleicnce  jo  your  :iiii;i/,in>';  (Mh- 
eernnieiil  :iiid  e(|ii:illy  :iiiiM/in<''  \vliiin:i)  IH  iiol. 
pijiver,  Idll  priiiMc.  And  Itelween  olliHelveM, 
W'lieii  all  men  iinile  lo  wdrMlii|>  (<o(l,  ilMI  Ix) 
praise,  iiol    prayer,  llial,  l)rinf';s  tlieiii  l.of^eliier. 

Vnilnc  Ih  <I(<v<>II(>ii  fit  for  nohld  miIiwIh, 

'I'Imi  (liirerin;r  worli I'h  a.f^i-eeinjj  Hiicf i llc(i.      .      ." 

*'  ( )li,  if  you're  fioln'-;  l(»  Mlii^  (piolalionM  from 
n  (apMler'H  won  al    my   head.      .      .      .      I.el    me  see 
liou'   does   il    fo  on'^      .      .      .       VVIiere  — 
Hoiiiel  Inn;';  or  oilier      dillei-eiil    laitliH— 

Wlicn^  II(-av(ii  divided  I'nidiH  iinifcd  (IikIh.      .      .      ." 


And  in  a  moinenl   llie  pair  were  in  Iiol,  piU'HIlit, 
ahcr  (lie  ipiolalioii,  trippin*;'  eaeli  oilier  up,   lik<i 
Iw'o  selioollioys  al.  n   f'ame.      TalTy    neyer    for;';(il, 
llie    lasl    slan/.a,    llie    lasl    line   (d    wliieli    lliey    re 
eovere(|  exa<'lly   in   llie   middle  (d    llie  sireel,    Vel 
vel  cap   Hlaiidiiif^    between    Iwo    Irani  lines,    right 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

in  the  path  of  an  advancing  car,  while  he  de- 
claimed— 

"  By  penitence  when  we  ourselves  forsake, 
'Tis  but  in  wise  design  on  piteous  Heaven  ; 
In  praise — 

(The  gesture  was  magnificent) 

■  In  praise  we  nobly  give  what  God  may  take, 
And  are  without  a  beggar's  blush  forgiven. 

— Confound  these  trams!  " 

The  old  clergyman  shook  hands  with  Taffy  in 
some  haste.  "  And  when  you  reach  home  give 
my  respects  to  your  father.  Stay,  you  don't 
know  my  name.  Here  is  my  card,  or  you'll  for- 
get it." 

"  Mine  too,"  said  Yelvet-cap. 

Taffy  stood  staring  after  them  as  they  walked 
off  down  the  lane  which  skirts  the  Botanical 
Gardens.  The  names  on  the  two  cards  were  fa- 
mous ones,  as  even  he  knew.  He  walked  back 
toward  Trinity  a  proud  and  happy  boy.  Half- 
way up  Queen's  Lane,  finding  himself  between 
blank  walls,  with  nobody  in  sight,  he  even 
skipped. 


232 


XX 

TAFFY    GIVES    A    PROMISE 

The  postman  halted  by  the  foot-bridge  and 
blew  his  horn.  The  sound  sent  the  rabbits 
scampering  into  their  burrows;  and  just  as  they 
began  to  pop  out  again,  Taffy  came  charging 
across  the  slope;  whereupon  they  drew  back 
their  noses  in  disgust,  and  to  avoid  the  sand  scat- 
tered by  his  toes. 

The  postman  held  up  a  blue  envelope  and 
waved  it.    "  Here,  'tis  come,  at  last !  " 

"  It  may  not  be  good  news,"  said  Taffy, 
clutching  it,  and  then  turning  it  over  in  his 
hand. 

"  Well,  that's  true.  And  till  you  open  it,  it 
won't  be  any  news  at  all." 

"  I  wanted  mother  to  be  the  first  to  know." 

"  Oh,  very  well — only  as  you  say,  it  mightn't 
be  good  news." 

"  If  it's  bad  news,  I  want  to  be  alone.  But 
why  should  they  trouble  to  write?  " 

233 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  True  again.  I  s'pose  now  you're  sure  it  is 
from  them? " 

"  I  can  tell  by  the  seal." 

"  Take  it  home,  then,"  said  the  postman. 
"  Only  if  you  think  'tis  for  the  sake  of  a  twid- 
dling sixteen  shilling  a  week  that  I  traipse  all 
these  miles  every  day " 

Taffy  fingered  the  seal.  "  If  you  would  really 
like  to  know " 

''  Don't  'ee  mention  it.  Not  on  any  account." 
He  waved  his  hand  magnanimously  and  trudged 
off  toward  Tredinnis. 

Taffy  waited  until  he  disappeared  behind  the 
first  sand-hill,  and  broke  the  seal.  A  slip  of 
parchment  lay  inside  the  envelope. 

"  This  is  to  certify " 

He  had  paused!  He  pulled  off  his  cap  and 
waved  it  round  his  head.  And  once  more  the 
rabbits  popped  back  into  their  burrows. 

Toot — toot — toot! — It  was  that  diabolical 
postman.  He  had  fetched  a  circuit  round  the 
sand-hill,  and  was  peeping  round  the  north  side 
of  it  and  grinning  as  he  blew. 

Taffy  set  off  running,  and  never  stopped  un- 
til he  reached  the  Parsonage  and  burst  into  the 
kitchen. 

234 


TAFFY    GIVES    A    PROMISE 
"  Mother — it's  all  right !    I've  passed ! 


5> 


Somebody  was  knocking  at  the  door.  Taffy 
jumped  up  from  his  knees  and  Humility  made 
the  lap  of  her  apron  smooth. 

"May  I  come  in?"  asked  Honoria,  and 
pushed  the  door  open.  She  stepped  into  the  mid- 
dle of  the  kitchen  and  dropped  Taffy  an  elabo- 
rate courtesy.  "  A  thousand  congratulations, 
sir!  " 

"  Why,  how  did  you  know?  " 

"  Well,  I  met  the  postman :  and  I  looked  in 
through  the  window  before  knocking." 

Taffy  bit  his  lip.  "  People  seem  to  be  taking 
a  deal  of  interest  in  us,  all  of  a  sudden,"  he  said 
to  his  mother.  Humility  looked  distressed,  un- 
comfortable. Honoria  ignored  the  snub.  "  I 
am  starting  for  Carwithiel  to-day,"  she  said, 
"  for  a  week's  visit;  and  thought  I  would  look  in 
— after  hearing  what  the  postman  told  me — and 
pay  my  compliments." 

She  talked  for  a  minute  or  two  on  matters  of 
no  importance;  asked  after  old  Mrs.  Venning's 
health ;  and  left,  turning  at  the  door  to  give  Hu- 
mility a  cheerful  little  nod. 

235 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

"  Taffy,  you  ought  not  to  have  spoken  so." 
Humility's  eyes  were  tearfuh 

Taffy's  conscience  was  already  accusing  him. 
He  snatched  up  his  cap  and  ran  out. 

"  Miss  Honoria !  " 

She  did  not  turn. 

"  Miss  Honoria — I  am  sorry."  He  overtook 
her,  but  she  turned  her  face  away.  "  Forgive 
me " 

She  halted,  and  after  a  moment  looked  him 
in  the  eyes.  He  saw  then  that  she  had  been 
crying. 

"  The  first  time  I  came  to  see  you,  he  whipped 
me,"  she  said  slowly. 

"  I  am  sorry ;  please " 

"  Taffy " 

"  Miss  Honoria." 

"  I  said— Taffy." 

"  Honoria,  then." 

"Do  you  know  what  it  is  to  feel  lonely, here?  " 

Taffy  remembered  the  afternoons  when  he  had 
roamed  the  sand-hills  longing  for  George's  com- 
pany. "  Why,  yes,"  said  he;  "  it  used  to  be  al- 
ways lonely." 

"  I  think  we  have  been  the  loneliest  children 

in  the  whole  world — you  and  I  and  George; 

236 


TAFFY    GIVES    A    PROMISE 

only  George  didn't  feel  it  in  the  same  way.  And 
now  it's  coming  to  an  end  with  you.  You  are 
going  up  to  Oxford,  and  soon  you  will  have  heaps 
of  friends.  Can  you  not  understand?  Suppose 
there  were  two  prisoners,  alone  in  the  same 
prison,  but  shut  in  different  cells;  and  one  heard 
that  the  other's  release  had  come.  He  would 
feel — would  he  not? — that  now  he  was  going  to 
be  lonelier  than  ever.  And  yet  he  might  be  glad 
of  the  other's  liberty,  and  if  the  chance  were 
given,  might  be  the  happier  for  shaking  hands 
with  the  other  and  wishing  him  joy." 

Taffy  had  never  heard  her  speak  at  all  like 
this. 

"  But  you  are  going  over  to  Carwithiel,  and 
George  is  famous  company." 

"  I  am  going  over  to  Carwithiel  because  I  hate 

Tredinnis.    I  hate  every  stone  of  it,  and  will  sell 

the  place  as  soon  as  ever  I  come  of  age.     And 

George  is  the  best  fellow  in  the  world.     Some 

day  I  shall  marry  him  (Oh,  it's  all  arranged!) 

and  we  shall  live  at  Carwithiel  and  be  quite 

happy;   for  I  like  him,  and  he  likes  people  to  be 

happy.     And  we  shall  talk  of  you.     Being  out 

of  the  world  ourselves,  we  shall  talk  of  you,  and 

the  great  things  you  are  going  to  do,  and  the 

237 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

great  things  you  are  doing.  We  shall  say  to 
each  other,  '  It's  all  very  well  for  the  world  to  be 
proud  of  him,  but  we  have  the  best  right;  for 
we  grew  up  with  him  and  know  the  stories  he 
used  to  tell  us ;  and  when  the  time  came  for  his 
going,  it  was  we  who  waved  from  the  door' " 

"  Honoria " 

"  But  there  is  one  thing  you  haven't  told;  and 
you  shall  now,  if  you  care  to — about  your  exam- 
ination and  what  you  did  at  Oxford." 

So  he  sat  down  beside  her  on  a  sand-hill  and 
told  her;  about  the  long  low-ceiled  room  in  the 
quadrangle  of  the  Bodleian,  the  old  marbles 
which  lined  the  walls,  the  examiner  at  the  blue- 
baize  table,  and  the  little  deal  tables  (all  scrib- 
bled over  with  names  and  dates  and  verses  and 
ribald  remarks)  at  which  the  candidates  wrote; 
also  of  the  viva  voce  examination  in  the  ante- 
chamber of  the  Convocation  House.  He  told  it 
all  as  if  it  were  the  great  event  which  he  honestly 
felt  it  to  be. 

"  And  the  others,"  said  she:  "  those  who  were 
writing  around  you,  and  the  examiner — how  did 
you  feel  toward  them?  " 

Taffy  stared  at  her.  "  I  don't  know  that  I 
thought  much  about  them." 

238 


TAFFY    GIVES    A    PEOMISE 

"  Didn't  you  feel  as  if  it  was  a  battle,  and  you 
wanted  to  beat  them  all?  " 

He  broke  out  laughing.  "  "Why  the  examiner 
was  an  old  man,  as  dry  as  a  stick !  And  the 
others — I  hardly  remember  what  they  were  like 
— except  one,  a  white-headed  boy  with  a  pimply 
face.  I  couldn't  help  noticing  him,  because, 
whenever  I  looked  up,  there  he  was  at  the  next 
table,  staring  at  me  and  chewing  a  quill." 

"  I  can't  understand,"  she  confessed.  "  Often 
and  often  I  have  tried  to  think  myself  a  man — a 
man  with  ambition.  And  to  me  that  has  always 
meant  fighting.  I  see  myself  a  man,  and  the 
people  between  me  and  the  prize  have  all  to  be 
knocked  down  or  pushed  out  of  the  way.  But 
you  don't  even  see  them — all  you  see  is  a  pimply- 
faced  boy  sucking  a  quill.    Taffy " 

"Whatisit,  Honoria?" 

"  I  wish  you  would  write  to  me,  when  you  get 
to  Oxford.  Write  regularly.  Tell  me  all  you 
do." 

"You  will  like  to  hear?" 

"  Of  course  I  shall ;  so  will  George.    But  it's 

not  only  that.     You  have  such  an  easy  way  of 

going  forward;    you  take  it  for  granted  you're 

going  to  be  a  great  man " 

239 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  I  don't." 

"  Yes,  you  do.  You  think  it  just  lies  with 
yourself,  and  it  is  nobody's  business  to  interfere 
with  you.  You  don't  even  notice  those  who  are 
on  the  same  path.  !N^ow  a  woman  would  no- 
tice every  one,  and  find  out  all  about  them." 

"  Who  said  I  wanted  to  be  a  great  man  ?" 

"  Don't  be  silly,  that's  a  good  boy.  There's 
your  father  coming  out  of  the  church-porch, 
and  you  haven't  told  him  yet.  Run  to  him, 
but  promise  first." 

"  What?" 

"  That  you  will  write." 

"  I  promise." 


240 


XXI 


honokia's    letters 


1 

Carwithiel,  October  25,  18 — . 
My  dear  Taffy: 

Your  letter  was  full  of  news,  and  I  read  it 
over  twice — once  to  myself,  and  again  after  din- 
ner to  George  and  Sir  Harry.  We  pictured  you 
dining  in  the  college  hall.  Thanks  to  your  de- 
scription, it  was  not  very  difficult:  the  long 
tables,  the  silver  tankards,  the  dark  panels  and 
the  dark  pictures  above,  and  the  dons  on  the 
dais,  aloof  and  very  sedate.  It  reminded  me  of 
Ivanhoe — I  don't  know  why;  and  no  doubt  if 
ever  I  see  Magdalen,  it  will  not  be  like  my 
fancy  in  the  least.  But  that's  how  I  see  it ;  and 
you  at  a  table  near  the  bottom  of  the  hall,  like 
the  youthful  squire  in  the  story-books — the  one, 
you  know,  who  sits  at  the  feast  below  the  salt 
until  he  is  recognized  and  forced  to  step  up  and 

take  his  seat  with  honor  at  the   high   table.     I 

241 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAllS 

began  to  explain  all  this  to  George,  but  found 
that  he  had  dropped  asleep  in  his  chair.  He 
was  tired  out  after  a  long  day  with  the  pheas- 
ants. 

I  shall  stay  here  for  a  week  or  two  yet,  per- 
haps. You  know  how  I  hate  Tredinnis.  On 
my  way  over,  I  called  at  the  Parsonage  and 
saw  your  mother.  She  was  writing  that  very 
day,  she  said,  and  promised  to  send  my  remem- 
brances, which  I  hope  duly  reached  you.  The 
Vicar  was  away  at  the  church,  of  course.  There 
is  gTeat  talk  of  the  Bishop  coming  in  February, 
when  all  will  be  ready.  George  sends  his  love; 
I  saw  him  for  a  few  minutes  at  breakfast  this 
morning,  before  he  started  for  another  day  with 
the  pheasants. 

Your  friend,  • 

HONORIA. 

Carwithiel,  November  19,  18—. 
My  dear  Taffy: 

Still  here,  you  see!  I  am  slipping  this  into 
a  parcel  containing  a  fire-screen  which  I  have 
worked  with  my  very  own  hands;  and  I  trust 
you  will  be  able  to  recognize  the  shield  upon  it 
and  the  Magdalen  lilies.     I  send  it,  first,  as  a 

242 


HONORIA'S    LETTEES 

birthday  present;  and  I  chose  a  shield — well,  I 
daresay  that  going  in  for  a  demy-ship  is  a  mat- 
ter-of-fact affair  to  you,  who  have  grown  so  ex- 
ceedingly matter-of-fact;  but  to  me  it  seems  a 
tremendous  adventure;  and  so  I  chose  a  shield 
— for  I  suppose  the  dons  would  frown  if  you 
wore  a  cockade  in  your  college  cap.  I  return 
to  Tredinnis  to-morrow;  so  your  news,  what- 
ever it  is,  must  be  addressed  to  me  there.  But 
it  is  safe  to  be  good  news. 

Your  friend, 

HONOEIA. 

3 

Tredinnis,  November  27,  18 — . 
Most  Honored  Scholar: 

Behold  me,  an  hour  ago,  a  great  lady,  seated 
in  lonely  grandeur  at  the  head  of  my  own  an- 
cestral table.  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  used 
the  dining-room;  usually  I  take  all  my  meals  in 
the  morning-room,  at  a  small  table  beside  the 
fire.  But  to-night  I  had  the  great  table  spread, 
and  the  plate  set  out,  and  wore  my  best  gown, 
and  solemnly  took  my  grandfather's  chair  and 
glowered  at  the  ghost  of  a  small  girl  shivering 
at  the  far  end  of  the  long  white  cloth.  When 
I  had  enough  of  this  (which  was  pretty  soon)  I 

243 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

ordered  up  some  champagne  and  drank  to  the 
health  of  Theophilus  John  Raymond,  Demy  of 
Magdalen  College,  Oxford,  I  graciously  poured 
out  a  second  glass  for  the  small  ghost  at  the 
other  end  of  the  table;  and  it  gave  her  the  cour- 
age to  confess  that  she,  too,  in  a  timid  way,  had 
taken  an  interest  in  you  for  years,  and  hoped 
you  were  going  to  be  a  great  man.  Having  thus 
discovered  a  bond  between  us,  we  grew  very 
friendly;  and  we  talked  a  great  deal  about  you 
afterward,  in  the  drawing-room,  where  I  lost 
her  for  a  few  minutes  and  found  her  hiding  in 
the  great  mirror  over  the  fire-place — a  habit  of 
hers. 

It  is  time  for  me  to  practise  ceremony,  for  it 
seems  that  George  and  I  are  to  be  married  some 
time  in  the  spring.  For  my  part,  I  think  my 
lord  would  be  content  to  wait  longer;  for  so 
long  as  he  is  happy  and  sees  others  cheerful,  he 
is  not  one  to  hurry  or  worry.  But  Sir  Harry  is 
the  impatient  one,  and  has  begun  to  talk  of  his 
decease.  He  doesn't  believe  in  it  a  bit,  and  at 
times  when  he  composes  his  features  and  at- 
tempts to  be  lugubrious  I  have  to  take  up  a  book 
and  hide  my  smiles.  But  he  is  clever  enough  to 

see  that  it  worries  George. 

2U 


HONOEIA'S    LETTERS 

I  saw  both  your  father  and  mother  this  morn- 
ing. Mr.  Raymond  has  been  kept  to  the  house 
by  a  chill;  nothing  serious;  but  he  is  fretting  to 
be  out  again  and  at  work  in  that  draughty 
church.  He  will  accept  no  help;  and  the  mis- 
tress of  Tredinnis  has  no  right  to  press  it  on  him. 
I  shall  never  understand  men  and  how  they 
fight.  I  supposed  that  the  war  lay  between 
him  and  my  grandfather.  But  it  seems  he  was 
fighting  an  idea  all  the  while;  for  here  is  my 
grandfather  beaten  and  dead  and  gone;  and  still 
the  Vicar  will  give  no  quarter.  If  you  had  not 
assured  me  that  your  demy-ship  means  eighty 
pounds  a  year,  I  could  believe  that  men  fight  for 
shadows  only.  Your  mother  and  grandmother 
are  both  well.     .     .     . 

It  was  a  raw  December  afternoon — within  a 
week  of  the  end  of  the  term — and  Taffy  had  re- 
turned from  skating  in  Christ  Church  meadow, 
when  he  found  a  telegram  lying  on  his  table. 
There  was  just  time  to  see  the  Dean,  to  pack, 
and  to  snatch  a  meal  in  hall,  before  rattling  off 
to  his  train.  At  Didcot  he  had  the  best  part  of 
an  hour  to  wait  for  the  night-mail  west- 
ward. 

245 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 
"  Your    father    dangerously    ill.     Come    at 


once." 


There  was  no  signature.  Yet  Taffy  knew 
who  had  ridden  to  the  office  with  that  telegram. 
The  flying  darkness  held  visions  of  her,  and  the 
express  throbbed  westward  to  the  beat  of  Aide- 
de-camp's  gallop.  Nor  was  he  surprised  at  all 
to  find  her  on  the  platform  at  Truro  station. 
The  Tredinnis  phaeton  was  waiting  outside. 

He  seemed  to  her  but  a  boy  after  all,  as  he 
stepped  out  of  the  train  in  the  chill  dawn;  a 
wan-faced  boy  and  sorely  in  need  of  comfort. 

"  You  must  be  brave,"  said  she,  gathering 
up  the  reins  as  he  climbed  to  the  seat  beside 
her. 

Surely  yes;  he  had  been  telling  himself  this 
very  thing  all  night.  The  groom  hoisted  in  his 
portmanteau,  and  with  a  slam  of  the  door  they 
were  off.  The  cold  air  sang  past  Taffy's 
ears.  It  put  vigor  into  him,  and  his  cour- 
age rose  as  he  faced  his  shattered  prospects, 
shattered  dreams.  He  must  be  strong  now,  for 
his  mother's  sake;  a  man  to  work  and  be  leant 
upon. 

Ai^d  so  it  was    that    whereas    Honoria    had 

246 


HONOEIA'S    LETTEES 

found  him  a  boy,  Humility  found  him  a  man. 
As  her  arms  went  about  him  in  her  grief,  she 
felt  his  body,  that  it  was  taller,  broader;  and 
knew,  in  the  midst  of  her  tears,  that  this  was  not 
the  child  she  had  parted  from  seven  short  weeks 
ago,  but  a  man  to  act  and  give  orders  and  be  re- 
lied upon. 

"  He  called  for  you  .  .  .  many  times," 
was  all  she  could  say. 

For  Taffy  had  come  too  late.  Mr.  Eaymond 
was  dead.  He  had  aggravated  a  slight  chill  by 
going  back  to  his  work  too  soon,  and  the  bitter 
draughts  of  the  church  had  cut  him  down  with- 
in sight  of  his  goal.  A  year  before,  he  might 
have  been  less  impatient.  The  chill  struck  into 
his  lungs.  On  December  1st  he  had  taken  to 
his  bed,  and  he  never  rallied. 

"  He  called  for  me?" 

"  Many  times." 

They  went  up  the  stairs  together  and  stood 
beside  the  bed.  The  thought  uppermost  in 
Taffy's  mind  was — "  He  called  for  me.  He 
wanted  me.  He  was  my  father,  and  I  never 
knew  him." 

But  Humility  in  her  sorrow  groped  amid 
such  questions  as  these:  "What  has  happened? 

247 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"Who  am  I?  Am  I  she  who  yesterday  had  a  hus- 
band, and  a  child?  To-day  my  husband  is  gone, 
and  my  child  is  no  longer  the  same  child." 

In  her  room  old  Mrs.  Venning  remembered 
the  first  days  of  her  own  widowhood;  and  life 
seemed  to  her  a  very  short  affair,  after  all. 

Honoria  saw  Taffy  beside  the  grave.  It  was 
no  season  for  out-of-door  flowers  and  she  had 
rifled  her  hot-houses  for  a  wreath.  The  exotics 
shivered  in  the  northwesterly  wind;  they  looked 
meaningless,  impertinent,  in  the  gusty  church- 
yard. Humility,  before  the  coffin  left  the  house, 
had  brought  the  dead  man's  old  blue  working- 
blouse  and  spread  it  for  a  pall.  No  flowers 
grew  in  the  parsonage  garden;  but  pressed  in 
her  Bible  lay  a  very  little  bunch  gathered,  years 
ago,  in  the  meadows  by  Honiton.  This  she 
divided  and,  unseen  by  anyone,  pinned  the  half 
upon  the  breast  of  the  patched  garment. 

On  the  evening  after  the  funeral  and  for  the 
next  day  or  two  she  was  strangely  quiet,  and 
seemed  to  be  waiting  for  Taffy  to  make  some 
sign.  Dearly  as  mother  and  son  loved  one  an- 
other, they  had  to  find  their  new  positions,  each 
toward    each.     Now  Taffy  had  known  nothing 

of  his  parents'  income.     He  assumed  that  it  was 

248 


HONOEIA'S    LETTEllS 

little  enough,  and  that  he  must  now  leave  Ox- 
ford and  work  to  support  the  household.  He 
knew  some  Latin  and  Greek;  but  without  a  de- 
gree he  had  little  chance  of  teaching  what  he 
knew.  He  was  a  fair  carpenter,  and  a  more 
than  passable  smith.  .  .  .  He  revolved 
many  schemes,  but  chiefly  found  himself  won- 
dering what  it  would  cost  to  enter  an  architect's 
office. 

"  I  suppose,"  said  he,  "  father  left  no  willf 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  did,"  said  Humility,  and  pro- 
duced it — a  single  sheet  of  foolscap  signed  on 
her  wedding-day.  It  gave  her  all  her  hus- 
band's property  absolutely — whatever  it  might 
be. 

"  Well,"  said  Taffy,  ''  I'm  glad.  I  suppose 
there's  enough  for  you  to  rent  a  small  cottage, 
while  I  look  about  for  work?" 

"  Who  talks  about  your  finding  work?  You 
will  go  back  to  Oxford,  of  course." 

"  Oh,  shall  I?"  said  Taffy,  taken  aback. 

"  Certainly;  it  was  your  father's  wish." 

"But  the  money?" 

"  With  your  scholarship  there's  enough  to 
keep  you  there  for  the  four  years.  After  that, 
no  doubt,  you  will  be  earning  a  good  income." 

24y 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

'^  But "    He  remembered  what  had  been 

said  about  the  lace-money,  and  could  not  help 
wondering. 

"  Taffy,"  said  his  mother,  touching  his  hand, 
"  leave  all  this  to  me  until  your  degree  is  taken. 
You  have  a  race  to  run  and  must  not  start  un- 
prepared. If  you  could  have  seen  his  joy  when 
the  news  came  of  the  demy-ship!" 

Taffy  kissed  her  and  went  up  to  his  room.  He 
found  his  books  laid  out  on  the  little  table  there. 


4 
Tredinnis,  February  13,  18—. 
My  dear  Taffy: 

I  have  a  valentine  for  you,  if  you  care  to  ac- 
cept it;  but  I  don't  suppose  you  will,  and  indeed 
I  hope  in  my  heart  that  you  will  not.  But  I 
must  offer  it.  Your  father's  living  is  vacant, 
and  my  trustees  (that  is  to  say.  Sir  Harry;  for 
the  other,  a  second  cousin  of  mine,  who  lives  in 
London,  never  interferes)  can  put  in  someone  as 
a  stop-gap,  thus  allowing  me  to  present  you  to 
it,  when  the  time  comes,  if  you  have  any 
thought  of  Holy  Orders.  You  will  understand 
exactly  why  I  offer  it;  and  also,  I  hope,  you  will 

250 


HONORIA'S    LETTERS 

know  that  I  think  it  wholly  unworthy  of  you. 
But  turn  it  over  in  your  mind  and  give  me  your 
answer. 

George  and  I  are  to  be  married  at  the  end  of 
April.  May  is  an  unlucky  month.  It  shall  be 
a  week — even  a  fortnight — earlier,  if  that  fits 
in  with  your  vacation,  and  you  care  to  come. 
See  how  obliging  I  am!  I  yield  to  you  what  I 
have  refused  to  Sir  Harry.  We  shall  try  to 
persuade  the  Bishop  to  come  and  open  the 
church  on  the  same  day. 

Always  your  friend, 

HONOEIA. 

5 

Tredinnis,  February  21st. 

My  dear  Taffy: 

E'o,  I  am  not  offended  in  the  least;  but  very 

glad.     I  do  not   think   you   are   fitted   for   the 

priesthood;  but  my  doubts  have  nothing  to  do 

with    your    doubts,  which  I  don't    understand, 

though  you  tried  to  explain  them  so  carefully. 

You  will  come  through  them,  I  expect.     I  don't 

know  that  I  have  any  reasons  that  could  be  put 

on  paper;  only,  somehow,  I  cannot  see  you  in  a 

black  coat  and  clerical  hat. 

251 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

You  comi^lain  that  I  never  write  about 
George.  You  don't  deserve  to  hear,  since  you 
refuse  to  come  to  our  wedding.  But  would  you 
talk,  if  you  happened  to  be  in  love?  There,  I 
have  told  you  more  than  ever  I've  told  George, 
whose  conceit  has  to  be  kept  down.  Let  this 
console  you. 

Our  new  Parson,  when  he  comes,  is  to  lodge 
down  in  Innis  village.  Your  mother — but  no 
doubt  she  has  told  you — stays  in  the  Parsonage 
while  she  pleases.  She  and  your  grandmother 
are  both  well.  I  see  her  every  day;  I  have  so 
much  to  learn  and  she  is  so  wise.  Her  beauti- 
ful eyes — but  oh,  Taffy,  it  must  be  terrible  to 
be  a  widow !  She  smiles  and  is  always  cheerful ; 
but  the  looh  in  them!  How  can  I  describe  it? 
When  I  find  her  alone,  with  her  lace-work,  or 
sometimes  (but  it  is  not  often)  with  her  hands  in 
her  lap,  she  seems  to  come  out  of  her  silence  with 
an  effort,  as  others  withdraw  themselves  from 
talk.  I  wonder  if  she  does  talk,  in  those  silences 
of  hers.  Another  thing — it  is  only  a  few  weeks 
now  since  she  put  on  a  widow's  cap,  and  yet  I 
cannot  remember  her — can  scarcely  picture  her 
— without  it.  I  am  sure  that  if  I  happened  to 
call   one   day   when   she   had   laid   it   aside,   I 


liONORIA'S    LETTERS 

should  begin    to    talk    quite    as    if    we    were 
strangers. 

Believe  me,  yours  sincerely, 

HONOKIA. 

But  the  wedding,  after  all,  did  not  take  place 
until  the  beginning  of  October,  a  week  before 
the  close  of  the  Long  Vacation;  and  Taffy,  after 
all,  was  present.  The  postponement  had  been 
enforced  by  many  delays  in  building  and  fur- 
nishing the  new  wing  at  Carwithiel;  for  Sir 
Harry  insisted  that  the  young  couple  must  live 
under  one  roof  with  him,  and  Honoria  (as  we 
know)  hated  the  very  stones  of  Tredinnis. 

The  Bishop  came  to  spend  a  week  in  the 
neighborhood,  the  first  three  days  as  Honoria's 
guest.  On  the  Saturday  he  consecrated  the 
work  of  restoration  in  the  Church  and,  in  the 
afternoon,  held  a  confirmation  service.  Taffy 
and  Honoria  knelt  together  to  receive  his  bless- 
ing. It  was  the  girl's  wish.  The  shadow  of 
her  responsibility  to  God  and  man  lay  heavy  on 
her  during  the  few  months  before  her  marriage, 
and  Taffy,  already  weary  and  disspirited  with 
his  early  doubtings,  suffered  her  mood  of  exalta- 
tion to  overcome  him  like  a  wave  and  sweep  him 

253 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

back  to  rest  for  a  while  on  the  still  waters  of 
faith.  Together  they  listened  while  the  Bishop 
discoursed  on  the  dead  Vicar's  labors  with 
fluency  and  feeling;  with  so  much  feeling,  in- 
deed, that  Taffy  could  not  help  wondering  why 
his  father  had  been  left  to  fight  the  battle 
alone. 

On  the  Sunday  and  Monday  two  near  parishes 
claimed  the  Bishop.  On  the  Tuesday  he  sent 
his  luggage  over  to  Carwithiel,  whither  he  was 
to  follow  after  the  wedding  service,  to  spend  a 
day  or  two  with  Sir  Harry.  It  had  been  Hon- 
oria's  wish  that  George  should  choose  Taffy  for 
his  best  man;  but  George  had  already  invited 
one  of  his  sporting  friends,  a  young  Squire  Phil- 
potts  from  the  eastern  side  of  the  Duchy;  and  as 
the  date  fell  at  the  beginning  of  the  hunting 
season,  he  insisted  on  a  "  pink  "  wedding.  Hon- 
oria  consulted  the  Bishop  by  letter.  "  Did  he 
approve  of  a  '  pink  '  wedding  so  soon  after  the 
bride's  confirmation?"  The  Bishop  saw  no  harm 
in  it. 

So  a  "  pink  "  wedding  it  was,  and  the  scarlet 

coats  made  a  lively  patch   of   color  in  the  gray 

churchyard;  but  it  gave  Taffy  a  feeling  that  he 

was    left    out    in    the    cold.     He    escorted    his 

254 


HOXOrJA'S    LETTERS 

mother  to  the  church,  and  left  her  for  a  few  min- 
utes in  the  Vicarage  pew.  The  bridegroom  and 
his  friends  were  gathered  in  a  showy  chister  by 
the  chancel  step,  but  the  bride  had  not  arrived, 
and  he  stepped  out  to  help  in  marshalling  the 
crowd  of  miners  and  mine-girls,  fishermen,  and 
mothers  with  unruly  children — a  hundred  or  so 
in  all,  lining  the  path  or  straggling  among  the 
graves. 

Close  by  the  gate  he  came  on  a  girl  who  stood 
alone. 

"  Hullo,  Lizzie — you  here?" 

"Why  not?"  she  asked,  looking  at  him  sul- 
lenly. 

"  Oh,  no  reason  at  all." 

"  There  might  ha'  been  a  reason,"  said  she, 
speaking  low  and  hurriedly.  "  You  might  ha' 
saved  me  from  this,  Mr.  Raymond;  and  her  too; 
one  time,  you  might." 

"  Why,  what  on  earth  is  the  matter?"  He 
looked  up.  The  Tredinnis  carriage  and  pair  of 
grays  came  over  the  knoll  at  a  smart  trot  and 
drew  up  before  the  gate. 

"  Matter?"  Lizzie  echoed  with  a  short  laugh. 

"  Oh,  nuthin'.     I'm  goin'  to  lay  the  curse  on 

her,  that's  all." 

255 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

"  You  shall  not!"  There  was  no  time  to  lose. 
Honoria's  trustee — the  second  cousin  from  Lon- 
don— a  tall,  clean-shaven  man  with  a  shiny,  bald 
head,  and  a  shiny  hat  in  his  hand — had  stepped 
out  and  was  helping  the  bride  to  alight.  What 
Lizzie  meant  Taify  could  not  tell;  but  there 
must  be  no  scene.  He  caught  her  hand. 
"  Mind — I  say  you  shall  not !  "  he  whispered. 

"  Lemme  go — you're  creamin'  my  fingers." 

"  Be  quiet,  then," 

At  that  moment  Honoria  passed  up  the  path. 
Her  wedding  gown  almost  brushed  him  as  he 
stood  wringing  Lizzie's  hand.  She  did  not  ap- 
pear to  see  him ;  but  he  saw  her  face  beneath  the 
bridal  veil,  and  it  was  hard  and  white. 

"The   proud    toad!"    said   Lizzie,     "  I'm  no 

better'n  dirt,  I  suppose,  though  from  the  start 

she  wasn'   above  robbin'   me.      Aw,   she's  sly. 

Mr,  Raymond,  I'll    curse    her    as    she 

comes  out,  see  if  I  don't!" 

"  And  I  swear  you  shall  not,"  said  Taffy, 
The  scent  of  Honoria's  oranae-blossom  seemed 
to  cling  about  them  as  they  stood. 

Lizzie    looked    at    him    vindictively.     "  You 

wanted    her    yourself,  /  know.     You    weren't 

good  enough,  neither.     Let  go  my  fingers!  " 

256 


HOXOI^IA'S    LETTERS 

"  Go  home,  now.  See,  the  people  have  all 
gone  in." 

"  Go'st  way  in,  too,  then,  and  leave  me  here 
to  wait  for  her." 

Taffy  shut  his  teeth,  let  go  her  hand,  and  tak- 
ing her  by  the  shoulders  swung  her  round,  face 
toward  the  gate. 

"  March!"  he  commanded,  and  she  moved  off 
whimpering.  Once  she  looked  back.  "  March !" 
he  repeated,  and  followed  her  down  the  road  as 
one  follows  and  threatens  a  mutinous  dog. 

The  scene  by  the  church  gate  had  puzzled 
Honoria,  and  in  her  first  letter  (written  from 
Italy)  she  came  straight  to  the  point,  as  her  cus- 
tom was.  "  I  hope  there  is  nothing  between 
you  and  that  girl  who  used  to  be  at  Joll's.  I  say 
nothing  about  our  hopes  for  you,  but  you  have 
your  own  career  to  look  to;  and  as  I  know  you 
are  too  honorable  to  flatter  an  ignorant  girl 
when  you  mean  nothing,  so  I  trust  you  are  too 
•wise  to  be  caught  by  a  foolish  fancy.  Forgive 
a  staid  matron  (of  one  week's  standing)  for 
writing  so  plainly;  but  what  I  saw  made  me  un- 
easy; without  cause,  no  doubt.  Your  future, 
remember,  is  not  yours  only.     And  now  I  shall 

257 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

trust  you,  and   never   come   back   to   this   sub- 
ject. 

"  We  are  like  children  abroad/'  she  went  on. 
"  George's  French  is  wonderful,  but  not  so  won- 
derful as  his  Italian.  When  he  goes  to  take  a 
ticket,  he  first  of  all  shouts  the  name  of  the  sta- 
tion he  wishes  to  arrive  at  (for  some  reason  he 
believes  all  foreigners  to  be  deaf);  then  he  be- 
gins counting  down  francs  one  by  one,  very 
slowly,  watching  the  clerk's  face.  When  the 
clerk's  face  tells  him  he  has  doled  out  enough, 
he  shouts  ^  Hold  hard!'  and  clutches  the  ticket. 
It  takes  time;  but  all  the  people  here  are  friends 
with  him  at  once — especially  the  children, 
whom  he  punches  in  the  ribs  and  tells  to  '  buck 
up.'  Their  mothers  nod  and  smile  and  openly 
admire  him;  and  I — well,  I  am  happy,  and  want 
everyone  else  to  be  happy!" 


258 


XXII 

MEN    AS    TOWEKS 

It  was  May  morning,  and  Taffy  made  one  of 
the  group  gathered  on  the  roof  of  Magdalen 
Tower.  In  the  groves  below  and  across  the 
river-meadows  all  the  birds  were  singing  to- 
gether. Beyond  the  glimmering  suburbs,  St. 
Clement's  and  Cowley  St.  John,  over  the  dark 
rise  by  Bullingdon  Green,  the  waning  moon 
seemed  to  stand  still  and  wait  poised  on  her 
nether  horn.  Below  her  the  morning  sky  waited, 
clean  and  virginal,  letting  her  veil  of  mist  slip 
lower  and  lower  until  it  rested  in  folds  upon  the 
high  woodlands  and  pastures.  While  it  dropped, 
a  shaft  of  light  tore  through  it  and  smote  flash- 
ing on  the  vane  high  above  Taffy's  head,  turn- 
ing the  dark  side  of  the  turrets  to  purple  and 
casting  lilac  shadows  on  the  surplices  of  the 
choir.  For  a  moment  the  whole  dewy  shadow 
of  the  tower  trembled  on  the  western  sky,  and 

melted  and  was  gone  as  a  flood  of  gold  broke  on 

259 


THE    SPIIP    OF    STARS 

the  eastward-turned  faces.  The  clock  below 
struck  five,  and  ceased.  There  was  a  sudden 
baring  of  heads;  a  hush;  and  gently,  borne  aloft 
on  boys'  voices,  clear  and  strong,  rose  the  first 
notes  of  the  hymn — 

Te  Deum  Patrera  colimus, 
Te  laudibus  prosequimur, 
Qui  corpus  cibo  reficis, 
Coelesti  mentem  gratia. 

In  the  pauses  Taffy  heard,  faint  and  far  be- 
low, the  noise  of  cowhorns  blown  by  the  street 
boys  gathered  at  the  foot  of  the  tower  and  be- 
yond the  bridge.  Close  beside  him  a  small  ur- 
chin of  a  chorister  was  singing  away  with  the 
face  of  an  ecstatic  seraph;  whence  that  ecstasy 
arose  the  urchin  would  have  been  puzzled  to  tell. 
There  flashed  into  Taffy's  brain  the  vision  of  the 
whole  earth  lauding  and  adoring — sun-wor- 
shippers and  Christians,  priests  and  small  chil- 
dren; nation  after  nation  prostrating  itself  and 
arising  to  join  the  chant — "  the  differing  world's 
agreeing  sacrifice."  Yes;  it  was  Praise  that 
made  men  brothers;  praise,  the  creature's  first 
and  last  act  of  homage  to  his  Creator;  praise  that 

made    him    kin    with    the    angels.     Praise  had 

260 


MEN    AS    TOWERS 

lifted  this  tower;  had  expressed  itself  in  its  soar- 
ing pinnacles;  and  he  for  the  moment  was  in- 
corporate with  the  tower  and  part  of  its  builder's 
purpose.  *'  Lord,  make  men  as  towers!" — he 
remembered  his  father's  prayer  in  the  field  by 
Tewkesbury;  and  at  last  he  understood.  "All 
towers  carry  a  lamp  of  some  kind  " — why,  of 
course  they  did.  He  looked  about  him.  The 
small  chorister's  face  was  glowing — 

Triune  Detis,  hominum 
Salutis  auctor  optime, 
Imviensum  hoc  mysterium 
Ovante  lingua  canimus  ! 

Silence — and  then  with  a  shout  the  tunable 
bells  broke  forth,  rocking  the  tower.  Someone 
seized  Taffy's  college-cap  and  sent  it  spinning 
over  the  battlements.  Caps?  For  a  second  or 
two  they  darkened  the  sky  like  a  flock  of  birds. 
A  few  gowns  followed,  expanding  as  they 
dropped,  like  clumsy  parachutes.  The  com- 
pany— all  but  a  few  severe  dons  and  their 
friends — tumbled  laughing  down  the  ladder, 
down  the  winding  stair,  and  out  into  sunshine. 
The  world  was  pagan  after  all. 


2G1 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAllS 

At  breakfast  Taffy  found  a  letter  on  his  table, 
addressed  in  his  mother's  hand.  As  a  rule  she 
wrote  twice  a  week,  and  this  was  not  one  of 
the  usual  days  for  hearing  from  her.  But  noth- 
ing was  too  good  to  happen  that  morning. 
He  snatched  up  the  letter  and  broke  the 
seal. 

"  My  dearest  boy,"  it  ran,  "  I  want  you  home 
at  once  to  consult  with  me.  Something  has  hap- 
pened (forgive  me,  dear,  for  not  preparing  you; 
but  the  blow  fell  on  me  yesterday  so  suddenly) 
— something  which  makes  it  doubtful,  and  more 
than  doubtful,  that  you  can  continue  at  Oxford, 
And  something  else  they  say  has  happened 
which  I  never  will  believe  in  unless  I  hear  it 
from  my  boy's  lips.  I  have  this  comfort,  at  any 
rate,  that  he  will  never  tell  me  a  falsehood.  This 
is  a  matter  which  cannot  be  explained  by  letter, 
and  cannot  wait  until  the  end  of  term.  Come 
home  quickly,  dear;  for  until  you  are  here  I  can 
have  no  peace  of  mind." 

So  once  again  Taffy  travelled  homeward  by 
the  night  mail. 

"Mother,  it's  a  lie!" 

Taffy's  face  was  hot,  but  he  looked  straight 

262 


MEN    AS    TOWERS 

into  his  mother's  eyes.  She,  too,  was  rosy-red, 
being  ever  a  shamefast  woman.  And  to  speak 
of  these  things  to  her  own  boy 

"Thank  God!"  she  murmured,  and  her  fin- 
gers gripped  the  arms  of  her  chair. 

"It's  a  lie!     Where  is  the  girl?" 

"  She  is  in  the  workhouse.  I  don't  know  who 
spread  it,  or  how  many  have  heard.  But  Hon- 
oria  believes  it." 

"  Honoria !  She  cannot — "  He  came  to  a 
sudden  halt.  "  But,  mother,  even  supposing 
Honoria  believes  it,  I  don't  see " 

He  was  looking  straight  at  her.  Her  eyes 
sank.     Light  began  to  break  in  on  him. 

"Mother!" 

Humility  did  not  look  up. 

"Mother!  Don't  tell  me  that  she — that 
Honoria " 

"  She  made  us  promise — your  father  and  me. 
God  knows  it  did  no  more  than  repay 
what  your  father  had  suffered.  .  .  .  Your 
future  was  everything  to  us.     .     .     ." 

"  And  I  have  been  maintained  at  Oxford  by 
her  money,"  he  said,  pausing  in  his  bitterness  on 
every  word. 

"  Not  by  that  only,  Taffy !     There  was  your 

263 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

scholarsliip     .     .     .     and  it  was  true  about  my 
savings  on  the  lace-work.     .     .     ." 

But  he  brushed  her  feeble  explanations  away 
with  a  little  gesture  of  impatience.  "  Oh,  why, 
mother?     Oh,  why?" 

She  heard  him  groan  and  stretched  out  her 
arms. 

"  Taffy,  forgive  me — forgive  us!  AVe  did 
wrongly,  I  see — I  see  it  as  plain  now  as  .  you. 
But  we  did  it  for  your  sake." 

"  You  should  have  told  me.  I  was  not  a  child. 
Yes,  yes,  you  should  have  told  me." 

Yes;  there  lay  the  truth.  They  had  treated 
him  as  a  child  when  he  was  no  longer  a  child. 
They  had  swathed  him  round  with  love,  forget- 
ting that  boys  grow  and  demand  to  see  with  their 
own  eyes  and  walk  on  their  own  feet.  To  every 
mother  of  sons  there  comes  sooner  or  later  the 
sharp  lesson  which  came  to  Humility  that  morn- 
ing; and  few  can  find  any  defence  but  that 
which  Humility  stammered,  sitting  in  her  chair 
and  gazing  piteously  up  at  the  tall  youth  con- 
fronting her:  "I  did  it  for  your  sake."  Be 
pitiful,  O  accusing  sons,  in  that  hour!  For,  ter- 
rible as  your  case  may  be  against  them,  your 
mothers  are  speaking  the  simple  truth. 

264 


MEN    AS    TOWERS 

Taffy  took  her  hand.  "  The  money  must  be 
paid  back,  every  penny  of  it." 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  How  much  ?" 

Humility  kept  a  small  account-book  in  the 
work-box  beside  her.  She  opened  the  pages, 
but,  seeing  his  outstretched  hand,  gave  it  obedi- 
ently to  Taffy,  who  took  it  to  the  window. 

"  Almost  two  hundred  pounds."  He  knit  his 
brows  and  began  to  drum  with  his  fingers  on  the 
window-pane.  "  And  we  must  put  the  interest 
at  five  per  cent.  .  .  .  With  my  first  in 
moderations  I  might  find  some  post  as  an  usher 
in  a  small  school.  .  .  .  There's  an  agency 
which  puts  you  in  the  way  of  such  things;  I 
must  look  up  the  address.  .  .  .  We  will 
leave  this  house,  of  course." 

"Must  we?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  we  must.     We  are  living 

here  by  her'  favor.     A  cottage  will  do — only  it 

must  have  four  rooms,  because  of  grandmother. 

.     .     .     I  will  step  over  and  talk  with  Men- 

darva.     He  may  be  able  to  give  me  a  job.     It 

will   keep   me   going,  at   any  rate,  until  I  hear 

from  the  agency." 

"  You  forget  that  I  have  over  forty  pounds  a 

265 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

year — or,  rather,  mother  has.  The  capital 
came  from  the  sale  of  her  farm,  years  ago." 

''  Did  it?"  said  Taffy,  grimly.  "  You  forget 
that  I  have  never  been  told.  Well,  that's  good, 
so  far  as  it  goes.  But  now  I'll  step  over  and  see 
Mendarva.  If  only  I  could  catch  this  cowardly 
lie  somewhere,  on  my  way!" 

He  kissed  his  mother,  caught  up  his  cap,  and 
flung  out  of  the  house.  The  sea-breeze  came 
humming  across  the  sand-hills.  He  opened  his 
lungs  to  it,  and  it  was  wine  to  his  blood;  he 
felt  strong  enough  to  slay  dragons.  "  But  who 
could  the  liar  be?  Not  Lizzie  herself,  sure- 
ly?   :N"ot — " 

He  pulled  up  short,  in  a  hollow  of  the  towans. 

"Not— George?" 

Treachery  is  a  hideous  thing,  and  to  youth  so 
incomprehensibly  hideous  that  it  darkens  the 
sun.  Yet  every  trusting  man  must  be  betrayed. 
That  was  one  of  the  lessons  of  Christ's  life  on 
earth.  It  is  the  last  and  severest  test;  it  kills 
many,  morally,  and  no  man  who  has  once  met 
and  looked  it  in  the  face  departs  the  same  man, 
though  he  may  be  a  stronger  one. 

"Not  George?'' 
'  Taffy  stood  there  so  still  that  the  rabbits  crept 

266 


MEN    AS    TOWERS 

out  and,  catching  sight  of  him,  paused  in  the 
mouths  of  their  burrows.  When  at  length  he 
moved  on,  it  was  to  take,  not  the  path  which 
wound  inland  to  Mendarva's,  but  the  one  which 
led  straight  over  the  higher  moors  to  Carwithiel. 

It  was  between  one  and  two  o'clock  when  he 
reached  the  house  and  asked  to  see  Mr.  or  Mrs. 
George  Yyell.  They  were  not  at  home,  the  foot- 
man said;  had  left  for  Falmouth,  the  evening 
before,  to  join  some  friends  on  a  yachting  cruise. 
Sir  Harry  was  at  home;  was,  indeed,  lunching  at 
that  moment;  but  would  no  doubt  be  pleased  to 
see  Mr.  Raymond. 

Sir  Harry  had  finished  his  lunch  and  sat 
sipping  his  claret  and  tossing  scraps  of  biscuit  to 
the  dogs. 

"Hullo,  Raymond! — thought  you  were  in 
Oxford.  Sit  down,  my  boy;  delighted  to  see 
you.  Thomas,  a  knife  and  fork  for  Mr.  Ray- 
mond. The  cutlets  are  cold,  I'm  afraid,  but  I 
can  recommend  the  cold  saddle,  and  the  ham — 
it's  a  York  ham.  Go  to  the  sideboard  and 
forage  for  yourself.  I  wanted  company.  My 
boy  and  Honoria  are  at  Falmouth,  yachting, 
and  have  left  me  alone.  What,  you  won't  eat? 
A  glass  of  claret  then,  at  any  rate." 

267 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  Sir  Harry,"  Taffy  began, 
awkwardly,  "  I've  come  on  a  disagreeable  busi- 
ness." 

Sir  Harry's  face  fell.  He  hated  disagreeable 
business.  He  flipped  a  piece  of  biscuit  at  his 
spaniel's  nose  and  sat  back,  crossing  his  legs. 

"  Won't  it  keep?" 

"  To  me  it's  important." 

"  Oh,  fire  away  then ;  only  help  yourself  to 
the  claret  first." 

"  A  girl — Lizzie  Pezzack,  living  over  at  Lan- 
gona — has  had  a  child  born " 

"  Stop  a  moment.  Do  I  know  her? — Ah,  to 
be  sure — daughter  of  old  Pezzack,  the  light- 
keeper — a  brown-colored  girl  with  her  hair  over 
her  eyes.  Well,  I'm  not  surprised.  W^mts 
money,  I  suppose?     Who's  the  father?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"Well,  but  —  damn  it  all! — somebody 
knows,"  Sir  Harry  reached  for  the  bottle  and 
refilled  his  glass. 

"  The  one  thing  I  know  is  that  Honoria — 
Mrs.  George,  I  mean — has  heard  about  it,  and 
suspects  me." 

Sir  Harry  lifted  his  glass  and  glanced  at  him 
over  the  rim.     "  That's   the    devil.     Does  she, 

268 


MEN    AS    TOWERS 

now?"  He  sipped.  "  She  hasn't  been  herself 
for  a  day  or  two — this  explains  it.  I  thought  it 
was  change  of  air  she  wanted.  She's  in  the 
deuce  of  a  rage,  you  bet." 

"  She  is,"  said  Taffy,  grimly. 

"  There's  no  prude  like  your  young  married 
woman.  But  it'll  blow  over,  my  boy.  My  ad- 
vice to  you  is  to  keep  out  of  the  way  for  a 
while." 

"  But — but  it's  a  lie!"  broke  in  the  indignant 
Taffy.  "  As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  there's  not 
a  grain  of  truth  in  it!" 

"  Oh — I  beg  your  pardon,  I'm  sure."  Here 
Honoria's  terrier  (the  one  which  George  had 
bought  for  her  at  Plymouth)  interrupted  by 
begging  for  a  biscuit,  and  Sir  Harry  balanced 
one  carefully  on  its  nose.  "  On  trust — good 
dog!     What  does  the  girl  say  herself?" 

"  I  don't  know.     I've  not  seen  her." 

"  Then,  my  dear  fellow — it's  awkward,  I  ad- 
mit— but  I'm  dashed  if  I  see  what  you  expect 
me  to  do."  The  baronet  pulled  out  a  handker- 
chief and  began  flicking  the  crumbs  off  his 
knees. 

Taffy  watched  him  for  a  minute  in  silence. 

He  was  asking  himself  why  he  had  come.  Well, 

2G9 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

he  had  come  in  a  hot  fit  of  indignation,  meaning 
to  face  Honoria  and  force  her  to  take  back  the 
insult  of  her  suspicion.  But  after  all — suppose 
George  were  at  the  bottom  of  it?  Clearly  Sir 
Harry  knew  nothing,  and  in  any  case  could  not 
be  asked  to  expose  his  own  son.  And  Honoria? 
Let  be  that  she  would  never  believe — that  he 
had  no  proof,  no  evidence  even — this  were  a 
pretty  way  of  beginning  to  discharge  his  debt  to 
her!  The  terrier  thrust  a  cold  muzzle  against 
his  hand.  The  room  was  very  still.  Sir  Harry 
poured  out  another  glassful  and  held  out  the  de- 
canter.    "  Come,  you  must  drink;  I  insist!" 

Taffy  looked  up.     "  Thank  you,  I  will." 

He  could  now,  and  with  a  clear  conscience. 
In  those  quiet  moments  he  had  taken  the  great 
resolution.  The  debt  should  be  paid  back,  and 
with  interest;  not  at  five  per  cent.,  but  at  a  rate 
beyond  the  creditor's  power  of  reckoning.  For 
the  interest  to  be  guarded  for  her  should  be  her 
continued  belief  in  the  man  she  loved.  Yes,  hut 
if  George  were  innocent?  Why,  then,  the  sac- 
rifice would  be  idle;  that  was  all. 

He  swallowed  the  wine,  and  stood  up. 

"  Must  you  be  going?  I  wanted  a  chat  with 
you   about    Oxford,"  grumbled  Sir  Harry;  but 

270 


MEN    AS    TOWERS 


noting  the  lad's  face,  how  white  and  drawn  it 


was,  he  relented  and  put  a  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
"  Don't  take  it  too  seriously,  my  boy.  It'll 
blow  over — it'll  blow  over.  Honoria  likes  you, 
I  know.  We'll  see  what  the  trollop  says;  and 
if  I  get  a  chance  of  putting  in  a  good  word,  you 
may  depend  on  me." 

He  walked  with  Taffy  to  the  door — good, 
easy  man — and  waved  a  hand  from  the  porch. 
On  the  whole,  he  was  rather  glad  than  not  to  see 
his  young  friend's  back. 

From  his  smithy  window  Mendarva  spied 
Taffy  coming  along  the  road,  and  stepped  out 
on  the  green  to  shake  hands  with  him. 

"  Pleased  to  see  your  face,  my  son !  You'll 
excuse  my  not  askin'  'ee  inside;  but  the  fact  is  " 
— he  jerked  his  thumb  toward  the  smithy — 
"  we've  a-got  our  troubles  in  there." 

It  came  on  our  youth  with  something  of  a 
shock,  that  the  world  had  room  for  any  trouble 
besides  his  own. 

"  'Tis  the  Dane.  He  went  over  to  Truro  yes- 
terday to  the  wrastlin',  an'  got  thrawed.  I 
tell'n  there's  no  need  to  be  shamed.  'Twas 
Luke  the  Wendron  fella  did  it — in  the  treble 

271 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAKS 

plaj — inside  lock  backward,  and  as  pretty  a 
chij)  as  ever  I  see."  Mendarva  began  to  illus- 
trate it  with  foot  and  ankle,  but  checked  himself 
and  glanced  nervously  over  his  shoulder.  "  Isn' 
lookin',  I  hope?  He's  in  a  terrible  pore  about 
it.  Won't  trust  hissel'  to  spake,  and  don't  want 
to  see  nobody.  But,  as  I  tell'n,  there's  no  need 
to  be  shamed;  the  fella  took  the  belt  in  the  las' 
round  and  turned  his  man  over  like  a  tab.  He's 
a  proper  angletwitch,  that  Wendron  fella.  Stank 
'pon  en  both  ends,  and  he'll  rise  up  in  the  mid- 
dle and  look  at  'ee.  There  was  no  one  a  patch 
on  en  but  the  Dane;  and  I'll  back  the  Dane 
next  time  they  clinch.  'Tis  a  nuisance,  though, 
to  have'n  like  this — with  a  big  job  coming  on, 
too,  over  to  the  light-house." 

Taffy  looked  steadily  at  the  smith.  "  AVhat's 
doing  at  the  light-house?" 

"  Ha'n't  'ee  heerd?"  Mendarva  began  a  long 
tale,  the  sum  of  which  was  that  the  light-house 
had  begun  of  late  to  show  signs  of  age,  to  rock 
at  times  in  an  ominous  manner.  The  Trinity 
House  surveyor  had  been  down,  and  reported, 
and  Mendarva  had  the  contract  for  some  imme- 
diate repairs.     "  But  'tis  patching  an  old  kettle, 

my  son.     The  foundations  be  clamped  down  to 

272 


MEN    x\S    TOWERS 

the  rock,  and  tlie  clamps  have  worked  loose. 
The  whole  thing'll  have  to  come  down  in  the 
end;  3'ou  mark  mj  words." 

"But,  these  repairs?"  Taffy  interrupted. 
"  You'll  be  wanting  hands." 

"  Why,  o'  course." 

"  And  a  foreman — a  clerk  of  the  works " 

While  Mendarva  was  telling  his  tale,  over  a 
hill  two  miles  to  the  westward  a  small  donkey- 
cart  crawled  for  a  minute  against  the  skyline 
and  disappeared  beyond  the  ridge  which  hid  the 
towans.  An  old  man  trudged  at  the  donkey's 
head ;  and  a  young  woman  sat  in  the  cart  with  a 
bundle  in  her  arms. 

The  old  man  trudged  along  so  deep  in  thought 
that  when  the  donkey,  without  rhyme  or  reason, 
came  to  a  halt,  half-way  down  the  hill,  he,  too, 
halted,  and  stood  pulling  a  wisp  of  gray  side- 
whiskers. 

"  Look  here,"  he  said.  "  You  ent  goin'  to 
tell?     That's  your  las'  word,  is  it?" 

The  young  woman  looked  down  on  the  bun- 
dle and  nodded  her  head. 

"  There,  that'll  do.  If  you  weant,  you  weant; 

I've  tek'n  'ee  back,  an'  us  must  fit  and  make  the 

273 


THE    SHIP   OF   STARS 

best  o't.  The  clieeld'll  never  be  good  for  much 
— born  lame  like  that.  But  'twas  to  be,  I 
s'pose." 

Lizzie  sat  dumb,  but  hugged  the  bundle 
closer. 

"  'Tis  like  a  judgment.  If  your  mother'd 
been  spared,  'twuldn'  have  happened.  But 
'twas  to  be,  I  s'pose.  The  Lord's  ways  be  past 
findin'  out." 

He  woke  up  and  struck  the  donkey  across  the 
rump. 

*'  Gwan  you!  Gee  up!  What  d'ee  mean  by 
stoppin'  like  that?" 


274 


XXIII 

THE  SERVICE  OF  THE  LAMP 

The  Chief  Engineer  of  the  Trinity  House 
was  a  man  of  few  words.  He  and  Taffy  had 
spent  the  afternoon  clambering  about  the  rocks 
below  the  light-house,  peering  into  its  founda- 
tions. Here  and  there,  where  weed  coated  the 
rocks  and  made  foothold  slippery,  he  took  the 
hand  which  Taffy  held  out.  Now  and  then  he 
paused  for  a  pinch  of  snuff.  The  round  of  in- 
spection finished,  he  took  an  extraordinarily 
long  pinch. 

"What's  your  opinion?"  he  asked,  cocking 
his  head  on  one  side  and  examining  the  young 
man  much  as  he  had  examined  the  light-house. 
"  You  have  one,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  of  course  it  doesn't  count  for 
much." 

"  I  asked  for  it." 

"  Well,  then,  I  think,  sir,  we  have  wasted  a 

275 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

year's  work;  and  if  we  go  on  tinkering,  we  shall 
waste  more." 

"Pull  it  down  and  rebuild,  you  say?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  not  on  the  same  rock." 

"  Why?" 

"  This  rock  was  ill-chosen.  You  see,  sir, 
just  here  a  ridge  of  elvan  crops  up  through  the 
slate;  the  rock,  out  yonder,  is  good  elvan,  and 
that  is  why  the  sea  has  made  an  island  of  it, 
wearing  away  the  softer  stuff  inshore.  The 
mischief  here  lies  in  the  rock,  not  in  the  light- 
house." 

"  The  sea  has  weakened  our  base?" 

"  Partly;  but  the  light-house  has  done  more. 
In  a  strong  gale  the  foundations  begin  to  work, 
and  in  the  chafing,  the  bed  of  rock  gets  the 
worst  of  it." 

"What  about  concrete?" 

"  You  might  fill  up  the  sockets  with  concrete ; 
hut  I  doubt,  sir,  if  the  case  would  hold  for  any 
time.  The  rock  is  a  mere  shell  in  places,  espe- 
cially on  the  northwestern  side." 

"  H'm.  You  were  at  Oxford  for  a  time, 
were  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Taffy  answered,  wondering. 

"  I've  heard  about  you.  Where  do  you  live?" 

276 


THE    SERVICE    OF    THE    LAMP 

Taffy  pointed  to  the  last  of  a  line  of  three 
whitewashed  cottages  behind  the  light-house, 

"Alone?" 

"No,  sir;  with  my  mother  and  my  grand- 
mother.    She  is  an  invalid." 

"  I  wonder  if  your  mother  would  be  kind 
enough  to  offer  me  a  cup  of  tea?" 

In  the  small  kitchen,  on  the  walls  of  which, 
and  even  on  the  dresser,  Taffy's  books  fought 
for  room  with  Humility's  plates  and  tinware, 
the  Chief  Engineer  proved  to  be  a  most  courte- 
ous old  gentleman.  Toward  Humility  he  bore 
himself  with  an  antique  politeness  which  flat- 
tered her  considerably.  And  when  he  praised 
her  tea,  she  almost  forgave  him  for  his  detesta- 
ble habit  of  snuff-taking. 

He  had  heard  (it  appeared)  from  the  Presi- 
dent something  of  Taffy's  college,  and  also  from 

(he  named  Taffy's  old  friend  in  the  velvet 

college-cap).  In  later  days  Taffy  maintained 
not  only  that  every  man  must  try  to  stand  alone, 
but  that  he  ought  to  try  the  harder  because  of  its 
impossibility;  for,  in  fact,  it  was  impossible  to 
escape  from  men's  helpful-ness.  And  though 
his  work  lay  in  lonely  places  where  in  the  end 

fame    came    out  to  seek    him,  he  remained  the 

277 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

year's  work;  and  if  we  go  on  tinkering,  we  shall 
waste  more." 

"  Pull  it  down  and  rebuild,  you  say  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir;  but  not  on  the  same  rock." 

"  Why?" 

"  This  rock  was  ill-chosen.  You  see,  sir, 
just  here  a  ridge  of  elvan  crops  up  through  the 
slate;  the  rock,  out  yonder,  is  good  elvan,  and 
that  is  why  the  sea  has  made  an  island  of  it, 
wearing  away  the  softer  stuff  inshore.  The 
mischief  here  lies  in  the  rock,  not  in  the  liglit- 
house." 

"  The  sea  has  weakened  our  base?" 

"  Partly;  but  the  light-house  has  done  more. 
In  a  strong  gale  the  foundations  begin  to  work, 
and  in  the  chafing,  the  bed  of  rock  gets  the 
worst  of  it." 

"What  about  concrete?" 

"  You  might  fill  up  the  sockets  with  concrete; 
but  I  doubt,  sir,  if  the  case  would  hold  for  any 
time.  The  rock  is  a  mere  shell  in  places,  espe- 
cially on  the  northwestern  side." 

"  H'm.  You  were  at  Oxford  for  a  time, 
were  you  not?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Taffy  answered,  wondering. 

"  I've  heard  about  you.  AVhere  do  you  live?" 

276 


THE    SERVICE    OF    THE    LAMP 

Taffy  pointed  to  the  last  of  a  line  of  three 
■whitewashed  cottages  behind  the  light-house. 

"Alone?" 

"]^o,  sir;  with  my  mother  and  my  grand- 
mother.    She  is  an  invalid." 

"  I  wonder  if  your  mother  would  be  kind 
enough  to  offer  me  a  cup  of  tea?" 

In  the  small  kitchen,  on  the  walls  of  which, 
and  even  on  the  dresser,  Taffy's  books  fought 
for  room  with  Humility's  plates  and  tinware, 
the  Chief  Engineer  proved  to  be  a  most  courte- 
ous old  gentleman.  Toward  Humility  he  bore 
himself  with  an  antique  politeness  which  flat- 
tered her  considerably.  And  when  he  praised 
her  tea,  she  almost  forgave  him  for  his  detesta- 
ble habit  of  snuff-taking. 

He  had  heard  (it  appeared)  from  the  Presi- 
dent something  of  Taffy's  college,  and  also  from 

(he  named  Taffy's  old  friend  in  the  velvet 

college-cap).  In  later  days  Taffy  maintained 
not  only  that  every  man  must  try  to  stand  alone, 
but  that  he  ought  to  try  the  harder  because  of  its 
impossibility;  for,  in  fact,  it  was  impossible  to 
escape  from  men's  helpfuloiess.  And  though 
his  work  lay  in  lonely  places  where  in  the  end 

fame    came    out  to  seek   him,  he  remained  the 

277 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

wliich  Humility  scrubbed  daily  with  soap  and 
water,  and  once  a  week  with  lemon-juice  as  well. 
Never  was  cleaner  linen  to  sight  and  smell  than 
that  which  she  pegged  out  by  the  furze-brake  on 
the  ridge.  All  the  life  of  the  small  colony, 
though  lonely,  grew  wholesome  as  it  was  simple 
of  purpose  in  cottages  thus  sweetened  and  kept 
sweet  by  lime-wash  and  the  salt  wind. 

And  through  it  moved  the  forlorn  figure  of 
Lizzie  Pezzack's  child.  Somehow  Lizzie  had 
taught  the  boy  to  walk,  with  the  help  of  a  crutch, 
as  early  as  most  children;  but  the  wind  made 
cruel  sport  with  his  first  efforts  in  the  open, 
knocking  the  crutch  from  under  him  at  every 
third  step,  and  laying  him  flat.  The  child  had 
pluck,  however,  and  when  autumn  came  round 
again,  could  face  a  fairly  stiff  breeze. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  word  came  of  the 
Trinity  Board's  intention  to  replace  the  old  light- 
liouse  with  one  upon  the  outer  rock.  For  the 
Chief  Engineer  had  visited  it  and  decided  that 
Taffy  was  right.  To  be  sure  no  mention  was 
made  of  Taffy  in  his  report;  but  the  great  man 
took  the  first  opportunity  to  offer  him  the  post 
of  foreman  of  the  works,  so  there  was  certainly 
nothing  to  be  grumbled  at.     The  work  did  not 

280 


THE    SEEVICE    OF    THE    LAMP 

actually  start  until  the  following  spring ;  for  tlie 
rock,  to  receive  the  foundations,  had  to  be  bored 
some  feet  below  high-water  level,  and  this  could 
only  be  attempted  on  calm  days  or  when  a  south- 
erly wind  blew  from  the  high  land  well  over  the 
workmen's  heads,  leaving  the  inshore  water 
smooth.  On  such  days  Taffy,  looking  up  from 
his  work,  would  catch  sight  of  a  small  figure  on 
the  cliff-top  leaning  aslant  to  the  wind  and  watch- 
ing. 

Eor  the  child  was  adventurous  and  took  no  ac- 
count of  his  lameness.  Perhaps  if  he  thought  of 
it  at  all,  having  no  chance  to  compare  himself 
with  other  children,  he  accepted  his  lameness  as 
a  condition  of  childhood — something  he  would 
grow  out  of.  His  mother  could  not  keep  him  in- 
doors; he  fidgeted  continually.  But  he  would 
sit  or  stand  quiet  by  the  hour  on  the  cliff-top, 
watching  the  men  as  they  drilled  and  fixed  the 
dynamite,  and  waiting  for  the  bang  of  it.  Best 
of  all,  however,  were  the  days  when  his  grand- 
father allowed  him  inside  the  lighthouse,  to 
clamber  about  the  staircase  and  ladders,  to  watch 
the  oiling  and  trimming  of  the  great  lantern  and 
the  ships  moving  slowly  on  the  horizon.     He 

asked  a  thousand  questions  about  them. 

281 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"I  think,"  said  he,  one  day  before  he  was 
three  years  old,  "  that  my  father  is  in  one  of 
those  ships." 

"Bless  the  child!"  exclaimed  old  Pezzack. 
"  Who  says  you  have  a  father?  " 

^'Everybody  has  a  father.  Dicky  Tregenza 
has  one;  they  both  work  down  at  the  rock.  I 
asked  Dicky  and  he  told  me." 

"  Told 'ee  what?" 

"  That  everybody  has  a  father.  I  asked  him 
if  mine  was  out  in  one  of  those  ships,  and  he  said 
very  likely.  I  asked  mother,  too,  but  she  was 
washing-up  and  wouldn't  listen." 

Old  Pezzack  regarded  the  child  grimly. 
"  'Twas  to  be,  I  s'pose,"  he  muttered. 

Lizzie  Pezzack  had  never  set  foot  inside  the 
Raymonds'  cottage.  Humility,  gentle  soul  as 
she  was,  could  on  some  points  be  as  unchristian 
as  other  women.  At  time  went  on,  it  seemed 
that  not  a  soul  beside  herself  and  Taffy  knew  of 
Honoria's  suspicion.  She  even  doubted,  and 
Taffy  doubted,  too,  if  Lizzie  herself  knew  such 
an  accusation  had  been  made.  Certainly  never 
by  word  or  look  had  Lizzie  hinted  at  it.  Yet  Hu- 
mility could  not  find  it  in  her  heart  to  forgive 
her.    "  She  may  be  innocent,"  was  the  thought; 

282 


THE    SERVICE    OF    THE    LAMP 

"  but  through  her  came  the  injury  to  my  son." 
Taffy  by  this  time  had  no  doubt  at  all.  It  was 
George  who  poisoned  Honoria's  ear;  George's 
shame  and  Honoria's  pride  would  explain  why 
the  whisper  had  never  gone  further;  and  noth- 
ing else  would  explain. 

Did  his  mother  guess  this?  He  believed  so  at 
times;  but  they  never  spoke  of  it. 

The  lame  child  was  often  in  the  Raymonds' 
kitchen.  Lizzie  did  not  forbid  or  resent  this. 
And  he  liked  Humility  and  would  talk  to  her  at 
length  while  he  nibbled  one  of  her  dripping- 
cakes.  "  People  don't  tell  the  truth,"  he  ob- 
served, sagely,  on  one  of  these  occasions.  (He 
pronounced  it  "  troof,"  by  the  way.)  "  I  know 
why  we  live  here.  It's  because  we're  near  the 
sea.  My  father's  on  the  sea  somewhere,  looking 
for  us;  and  grandfather  lights  the  lamp  every 
night  to  tell  him  where  we  are.  One  night  he'll 
see  it  and  bring  his  ship  in  and  take  us  all  off 
together." 

"  Who  told  you  all  this?  " 

"  Nobody.  People  won't  tell  me  nothing 
(nofing).     I  has  to  make  it  out  in  my  head." 

At  times,  when  his  small  limbs  grew  weary 
(though  he  never  acknowledged  this),  he  would 

283 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

stretch  himself  on  the  short  turf  of  the  headland 
and  lie  staring  np  at  the  white  gulls.  No  one 
ever  came  near  enough  to  surprise  the  look 
which  then  crept  over  the  child's  face.  But 
Taff  J,  passing  him  at  a  distance,  remembered  an- 
other small  boy,  and  shivered  to  remember  and 
compare — 

A  boy's  will  is  the  wind's  will 

And  the  thoughts  of  youth  are  long,  long  thoughts, 

— but  how,  when  the  boy  is  a  cripple? 

One  afternoon  he  was  stooping  to  inspect  an 
obstinate  piece  of  boring  when  the  man  at  his  el- 
bow said: 

"Hullo!  edn'  that  young  Joey  Pezzack  in 
difficulties  up  there?  Blest  if  the  cheeld  won't 
break  his  neck  wan  of  these  days !  " 

Taffy  caught  up  a  coil  of  rope,  sprang  into  a 
boat,  and  pushed  across  to  land.  "Don't  move!  " 
he  shouted. 

At  the  foot  of  the  cliff  he  picked  up  Joey's 
crutch,  and  ran  at  full  speed  up  the  path  worn 
by  the  workmen.  This  led  him  round  to  the 
verge,  ten  feet  above  the  ledge  where  the  child 
clung  white  and  silent.  He  looped  the  rope  in  a 
running  noose  and  lowered  it. 

284 


THE    SERVICE    OF    THE    LAMP 

"  Slip  this  under  your  arms.  Can  you  man- 
age, or  shall  I  come  down?  I'll  come  if  you're 
hurt." 

"  I've  twisted  my  foot.  It's  all  right,  now 
you're  come,"  said  the  little  man,  bravely;  and 
slid  the  rope  round  himself  in  the  most  business- 
like way. 

"  The   grass   was    slipper "  he  began,  as 

soon  as  his  feet  touched  firm  earth ;  and  with  that 
he  broke  down  and  fell  to  sobbing  in  Taffy's 
arms. 

Taffy  carried  him — a  featherweight — to  the 
cottage  where  Lizzie  stood  by  her  table  washing 
up.  She  saw  them  at  the  gate  and  came  running 
out. 

"  It's  all  right.  He  slipped — out  on  the  cliff. 
Nothing  more  than  a  scratch  or  two  and  perhaps 
a  sprained  ankle." 

He  watched  while  she  set  Joey  in  a  chair  and 
began  to  pull  off  his  stockings.  He  had  never 
seen  the  child's  foot  naked.  She  turned  sudden- 
ly, caught  him  looking,  and  pulled  the  stocking 
back  over  the  deformity. 

"  Have  you  heard?  "  she  asked. 

"What?" 

"  She  has  a  boy !    Ah !  "  she  laughed,  harshly, 

285 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  I  thought  that  would  hurt  you.     Well,  you 
have  been  a  silly !  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  understand." 

"  You  don't  think  vou  understand!  "  she 
mimicked.  "And  you're  not  fond  of  her,  eh? 
Never  were  fond  of  her,  eh?  You  silly — to  let 
him  take  her,  and  never  tell!  " 

"Tell?" 

She  faced  him,  hardening  her  gaze.  "  Yes, 
tell — "  She  nodded  slowly;  while  Joey,  unob- 
served by  either,  looked  up  with  wide,  round 
eyes. 

"  Men  don't  fight  like  that."  The  words  were 
out  before  it  struck  him  that  one  man  had,  al- 
most certainly,  fought  like  that.  Her  face,  how- 
ever, told  him  nothing.  She  could  not  know. 
"  You  have  never  told,"  he  added. 

"  Because — "  she  began,  but  could  not  tell 
him  the  whole  truth.  And  yet  what  she  said  was 
true.  "  Because  you  would  not  let  me,"  she  mut- 
tered. 

"  In  the  churchyard,  you  mean — on  her  wed- 
ding-day? " 

"  Before  that." 

"  But  before  that  I  never  guessed." 
All  the  same,  I  knew  what  you  were.    You 

286 


« 


THE    SERVICE    OF    THE    LAMP 

wouldn't  have  let  me.  It  came  to  the  same  thing. 
And  if  I  had  told — Oh,  you  make  it  hard  for 
me !  "  she  wailed. 

He  stared  at  her,  understanding  this  only — 
that  somehow  he  could  control  her  will. 

"  I  will  never  let  you  tell,"  he  said,  gravely. 

"I  hate  her!" 

"  You  shall  not  tell." 

"  Listen  " — she  drew  close  and  touched  his 
arm.  "  He  never  cared  for  her;  it's  not  his  way 
to  care.  She  cares  for  him  now,  I  dessay — not 
as  she  might  have  cared  for  you — but  she's  his 
wife,  and  some  women  are  like  that.  There's 
her  pride,  anyway.  Suppose — suppose  he  came 
back  to  me?  " 

"  If  I  caught  him — "  Taffy  began ;  but  the 
poor  child,  who  for  two  minutes  had  been  twist- 
ing his  face  heroically,  interrupted  with  a  wail: 

"  Oh,  mother !  my  foot — it  hurts  so !  " 


287 


XXIV 

FACE    TO    FACE 

The  first  winter  had  interrupted  all  work  upon 
the  rock;  but  Taffy  and  his  men  had  used  the 
calm  days  of  the  following  spring  and  summer  to 
such  purpose  that  before  the  end  of  July  the 
foundations  began  to  show  above  high-water 
neaps,  and  in  September  he  was  able  to  report 
that  the  building  could  be  pushed  forward  in  any 
ordinary  weather.  The  workmen  were  carried 
to  and  from  the  mainland  by  a  wire  hawser  and 
cradle,  and  the  rising  breastwork  of  masonry 
protected  them  from  the  beat  of  the  sea.  Prog- 
ress was  slow,  for  each  separate  stone  had  to  be 
dovetailed  above,  below,  and  on  all  sides  with 
the  blocks  adjoining  it,  besides  being  cemented; 
and  care  to  be  taken  that  no  salt  mingled  with 
the  fresh  water,  or  found  its  way  into  the  joints 
of  the  building.  Taffy  studied  the  barometer 
hour  by  hour,  and  kept  a  constant  lookout  to 

windward  against  sudden  gales. 

288 


FACE    TO    FACE 

On  November  IGth  the  men  had  finished  their 
dinner  and  sat  smoking  under  the  lee  of  the  wall 
and  were  expecting  the  call  of  the  whistle  when 
Taffy,  with  his  pocket-aneroid  in  his  hand,  gave 
the  order  to  snug  down  and  man  the  cradle  for 
shore.  They  stared.  The  morning  had  been  a 
halcyon  one;  and  the  northerly  breeze,  which 
had  sprung  up  with  the  turn  of  the  tide  and  was 
freshening,  carried  no  cloud  across  the  sky.  Two 
vessels,  a  brigantine  and  a  three-masted  schooner, 
were  merrily  reaching  down-channel  before  it, 
the  brigantine  leading;  at  two  miles'  distance 
they  could  see  distinctly  the  white  foam  running 
from  her  bluff  bows,  and  her  forward  deck  from 
bulwark  to  bulwark  as  she  heeled  to  it. 

One  or  two  grumbled.  Half  a  day's  work 
meant  half  a  day's  pay  to  them.  It  was  all  very 
well  for  the  Cap'n,  who  drew  his  by  the  week. 

"Come,  look  alive!"  Taffy  called  sharply. 
He  pinned  his  faith  to  the  barometer,  and  as  he 
shut  it  in  its  case  he  glanced  at  the  brigantine  and 
saw  that  her  crew  were  busy  with  the  braces,  flat- 
tening the  forward  canvas.  "  See  there,  boys. 
There'll  be  a  gale  from  the  west'ard  before 
night." 

For  a  minute  the  brigantine  seemed  to  have 

289 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

run  into  a  calm.     The  schooner,  half  a  mile  be- 
hind her,  came  reaching  along  steadily. 

"  That  there  two-master's  got  a  fool  for  skip- 
per," grumbled  a  voice.  But  almost  at  the  mo- 
ment the  wind  took  her  right  aback — or  would 
have  done  so  had  the  crew  not  been  preparing  for 
it.  Her  stern  swung  slowly  around  into  view, 
and  within  two  minutes  she  was  fetching  away 
from  them  on  the  port  tack,  her  sails  hauled 
closer  and  closer  as  she  went.  Already  the 
schooner  was  preparing  to  follow  suit. 

"  Snug  down,  boys!  We  must  be  out  of  this 
in  half  an  hour." 

And  sure  enough,  by  the  time  Taffy  gained 
the  cliff  by  the  old  light-house  the  sky  had  dark- 
ened and  a  stiff  breeze  from  the  northwest,  cross- 
ing the  tide,  was  beginning  to  work  up  a  nasty 
sea  around  the  rock  and  lop  it  from  time  to  time 
over  the  masonry  and  the  platforms  where,  half 
an  hour  before,  his  men  had  been  standing.  The 
two  vessels  had  disappeared  in  the  weather;  and 
as  Taffy  stared  in  the  direction  a  spit  of  rain — 
the  first — took  him  viciously  in  the  face. 

He  turned  his  back  to  it  and  hurried  home- 
Avard.  As  he  passed  the  light-house  door  old  Pez- 
zack  called  out  to  him : 

290 


FACE    TO    FACE 

"Hi!  wait  a  bit!  Would 'ee  mind  seein' Joey 
home?  I  dimna  what  his  mother  sent  him  over 
here  for,  not  I.    He'll  get  hisself  leakin'." 

Joey  came  hobbling  out  and  put  his  right  hand 
in  Taffy's  with  the  fist  doubled. 

"  What's  that  in  your  hand?  " 

Joey  looked  up  shyly.    "  You  won't  tell  ?  " 

"  Xot  if  it's  a  secret." 

The  child  opened  his  palm  and  disclosed  a 
bright  half-crown  piece. 

"  Where  on  earth  did  you  get  that  ?  " 

"  The  soldier  gave  it  to  me." 

"  The  soldier?  nonsense!  What  tale  are  you 
making  up? " 

"  Well,  he  had  a  red  coat,  so  he  must  be  a 
soldier.  He  gave  it  to  me  and  told  me  to  be  a 
good  boy  and  run  off  and  play." 

Taffy  came  to  a  halt,  "  Is  he  here — up  at  the 
cottages?  " 

"  How  funnily  you  say  that!  No,  he's  just 
rode  away.  I  watched  him  from  the  light-house 
windows.    He  can't  be  gone  far  yet." 

"  Look  here,  Joey — can  you  run?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  hold  my  hand;  only  you  mustn't 

go  too  fast.     Oh,  you're  hurting!  " 

Taffy  took  the  child  in  his  arms,  and  with  the 

291 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

wind  at  bis  back,  went  up  tbe  bill  with  long 
stride.  "  Tbere  be  is!  "  cried  Joey  as  tbey  gained 
the  ridge;  and  he  pointed;  and  Taffy,  looking 
along  the  ridge,  saw  a  speck  of  scarlet  moving 
against  tbe  lead-colored  moors — half  a  mile  away 
perhaps,  or  a  little  more.  He  sat  tbe  child  down, 
for  the  cottages  were  close  by.  "  Run  home,  son- 
ny. I'm  going  to  have  a  look  at  tbe  soldier,  too." 
The  first  bad  squall  broke  on  the  headland  just 
as  Taffy  started  to  run.  It  was  as  if  a  bag  of 
water  bad  burst  right  overhead,  and  within  a 
quarter  of  a  minute  he  was  drenched  to  the  skin. 
So  fiercely  it  went  howling  inland  along  tbe  ridge 
that  he  half-expected  to  see  the  horse  urged  into 
a  gallop  before  it.  But  tbe  rider,  now  standing 
high  for  a  moment  against  the  sky-line,  went 
plodding  on.  For  a  while  horse  and  man  dis- 
appeared over  the  rise ;  but  Taffy  guessed  that  on 
bitting  the  cross-path  beyond,  they  would  strike 
away  to  the  left  and  descend  toward  Langona 
Creek;  and  he  began  to  slant  bis  course  to  the 
left  in  anticipation.  The  tide,  be  knew,  would 
be  running  in  strong ;  and  with  this  wind  behind 
it  he  hoped — and  caught  himself  praying — that 
it  would  be  high  enough  to  cover  tbe  wooden  foot- 
bridge and  make  the  ford  impassable ;    and  if  so, 

292 


FACE    TO    FACE 

the  horseman  would  be  delayed  and  forced  to 
head  back  and  fetch  a  circuit  farther  up  the  val- 
ley. 

By  this  time  the  squalls  were  coming  fast  on 
each  other's  heels,  and  the  strength  of  them  flung 
him  forward  at  each  stride.  He  had  lost  his  hat, 
and  the  rain  poured  down  his  back  and  squished 
in  his  boots.  But  all  he  felt  was  the  hate  in  his 
heart.  It  had  gathered  there  little  by  little  for 
three  years  and  a  half,  pent  up,  fed  by  his  silent 
thoughts  as  a  reservoir  by  small  mountain- 
streams;  and  with  so  tranquil  a  surface  that  at 
times — poor  youth! — he  had  honestly  believed 
it  reflected  God's  calm,  had  been  proud  of  his 
magnanimity,  and  said  "  forgive  us  our  tres- 
passes, as  we  forgive  them  that  trespass  against 
us."  Kow  as  he  ran  he  prayed  to  the  same  God 
to  delay  the  traitor  at  the  ford. 

Dusk  was  falling  when  George,  yet  unaware 
of  pursuit,  turned  down  the  sunken  lane  which 
ended  beside  the  ford.  And  by  the  shore,  when 
the  small  waves  lapped  against  his  mare's  fore- 
feet, he  heard  Taffy's  shout  for  the  first  time  and 
turned  in  his  saddle.  Even  so  it  was  a  second  or 
two  before  he  recognized  the  figure  which  came 
plunging  down  the  low  cliff  on  his  left,  avoiding 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

a  fall  only  by  wild  clutches  at  the  swaying  alder 
boughs. 

"Hello!"  he  shouted,  cheerfully.  "Looks 
nasty,  doesn't  it? " 

Taffy  came  down  the  beach,  near  enough  to 
see  that  the  mare's  legs  were  plastered  with  mud, 
and  to  look  up  into  his  enemy's  face. 

"  Get  down,"  he  panted. 

"Hey?" 

"  Get  down,  I  tell  you.  Come  off  your  horse, 
and  put  up  your  fists." 

"AVhat  the  devil  is  the  matter?  Hello! 
.    .    .    Keep  off,  I  tell  you !    Are  you  mad  ?  " 

"  Come  off  and  fight." 

"  By  God,  I'll  break  your  head  in  if  you 
don't  let  go.  .  .  .  You  idiot !  " — as  the  mare 
plunged  and  tore  the  stirrup-leather  from  Taffy's 
grip — "  She'll  brain  you,  if  you  fool  round  her 
heels  like  that!" 

"  Come  off,  then." 

"  Very  well."  George  backed  a  little,  swung 
himself  out  of  the  saddle  and  faced  him  on  the 
beach.    "  Now  perhaps  you'll  explain." 

"  You've  come  from  the  headland?  " 

"Well?" 

"  From  Lizzie  Pezzack's." 

294 


FACE    TO    FACE 

"  Well,  and  what  then?  " 

"  Only  this,  that  so  sure  as  you've  a  wife  at 
home,  if  you  come  to  the  headland  again,  I'll  kill 
you;  and  if  you're  a  man,  you'll  put  up  your 
fists  now." 

"  Oh,  that's  it?  May  I  ask  what  you  have  to 
do  with  my  wife,  or  with  Lizzie  Pezzack  ?  " 

"  Whose  child  is  Lizzie's?  " 

"  Xot  yours,  is  it  ?  " 

"  You  said  so  once;  you  told  your  wife  so; 
liar  that  you  were." 

"  Very  good,  my  gentleman.  You  shall  have 
what  you  want.  Woa,  mare!  "  He  led  her  up 
the  beach  and  sought  for  a  branch  to  tie  his  reins 
to.  The  mare  hung  back,  terrified  by  the  swish- 
ing of  the  whipped  boughs  and  the  roar  of  the 
gale  overhead;  her  hoofs,  as  George  dragged 
her  forward,  scuffled  with  the  loose-lying  stones 
on  the  beach.  After  a  minute  he  desisted  and 
turned  on  Taffy  again. 

"  Look  here;  before  we  have  this  out  there's 
one  thing  I'd  like  to  know.  When  you  were  at 
Oxford,  was  Ilonoria  maintaining  you  there  ?  " 

"  If  you  must  know — yes." 

"  And  when — when  this  happened,  she 
stopped  the  supplies." 

295 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  Yes." 

"  AYell,  then,  I  didn't  know  it.  She  never 
told  me." 

"  She  never  told  me." 

"  You  don't  say " 

"  I  do.    I  never  knew  it  until  too  late." 

"  Well,  now,  I'm  going  to  fight  you.  I  don't 
swallow  being  called  a  liar.  But  I  tell  you  this 
first,  that  I'm  damned  sorry.  I  never  guessed 
that  it  injured  your  prospects." 

At  another  time,  in  another  mood,  Taffy 
might  have  remembered  that  George  was  George, 
and  heir  to  Sir  Harry's  nature.  As  it  was,  the 
apology  threw  oil  on  the  flame. 

"  You  cur!  Do  you  think  it  was  that?  And 
you  are  Honoria's  husband!  "  He  advanced 
with  an  ugly  laugh.  "  For  the  last  time,  put  up 
your  fists." 

They  had  been  standing  within  two  yards  of 

each  other;   and  even  so,  shouted  at  the  pitch  of 

their  voices  to  make  themselves  heard  above  the 

gale.    As  Taffy  took  a  step  forward  George  lifted 

his  whip.    His  left  hand  held  the  bridle  on  which 

the  reluctant  mare  was  dragging,  and  the  action 

was  merely  instinctive,  to  guard  against  sudden 

attack. 

296 


FACE    TO    FACE 

But  as  lie  did  so  his  face  and  uplifted  arm  were 
suddenly  painted  clear  against  the  darkness.  The 
mare  plunged  more  wildly  than  ever.  Taffy 
dropped  his  hands  and  swung  round.  Behind 
him,  behind  the  black  contour  of  the  hill,  the 
whole  sky  welled  up  a  pale  blue  light  which 
gathered  brightness  while  he  stared. 

The  very  stones  on  the  beach  at  his  feet  shone 
separate  and  distinct. 

*'  What  is  it?  "  George  gasped. 

"A  ship  on  the  rocks!  Quick,  man!  Will 
the  mare  reach  to  Innis?  " 

"  She'll  have  to."  George  wheeled  her  round. 
She  was  fagged  out  with  two  long  gallops  after 
hounds  that  day,  but  for  the  moment  sheer  terror 
made  her  lively  enough. 

"  Ride,  then !  Call  up  the  coast-guard.  By 
the  flare  she  must  be  somewhere  off  the  creek 
here.    Ride!" 

A  clatter  of  hoofs  answered  him  as  the  mare 
pounded  up  the  lane. 


297 


XXY 

THE    WEECK    OF    THE    SAMARITAN 

Taffy  stood  for  a  moment  listening.  He 
judged  the  wreck  to  be  somewhere  on  the  near 
side  of  the  light-house,  between  it  and  the  mouth 
of  the  creek;  that  was,  if  she  had  already  struck. 
If  not,  the  gale  and  the  set  of  the  tide  together 
would  be  sweeping  her  eastward,  perhaps  right 
across  the  mouth  of  the  creek.  And  if  he  could 
discover  this,  his  course  would  be  to  run  back, 
intercept  the  coast-guard  and  send  them  around 
by  the  upper  bridge. 

He  waited  for  a  second  signal  to  guide  him — 
a  flare  or  a  rocket;  but  none  came.  The  beach 
lay  in  the  lew  of  the  weather,  deep  in  the  hills' 
hollow  and  trebly  landlocked  by  the  windings  of 
the  creek;  but  above  him  the  sky  kept  its  scream- 
ing as  though  the  bare  ridges  of  the  headland 
were  being  shelled  by  artillery. 

He  resolved  to  keep  along  the  lower  slopes  and 

search  his  way  down  to  the  creek's  mouth,  when 

298 


THE    WRECK    OF    THE    SAMARITAN 

he  would  have  sight  of  any  signal  shown  along 
the  coast  for  a  mile  or  two  to  the  east  and  north- 
east. The  night  was  now  as  black  as  a  wolf's 
throat;  but  he  knew  every  path  and  fence.  So 
he  scrambled  up  the  low  cliff  and  began  to  run, 
following  the  line  of  stunted  oaks  and  tamarisks 
which  fenced  it;  and  on  the  ridges — where  the 
blown  hail  took  him  in  the  face — crouching  and 
scuttling  like  a  crab,  sideways,  moving  his  legs 
only  from  the  knees  down. 

In  this  way  he  had  covered  half  a  mile  and 
more  when  his  right  foot  plunged  in  a  rabbit 
hole  and  he  was  pitched  headlong  into  the  tam- 
arisks below.  Their  boughs  bent  under  his 
weight;  but  they  were  tough,  and  he  caught  at 
them  and  just  saved  himself  from  rolling  over 
into  the  black  water.  He  picked  himself  up  and 
began  to  rub  his  twisted  ankle.  And  at  that  in- 
stant, in  a  lull  between  two  gusts,  his  ear  caught 
the  sound  of  splashing — yet  a  sound  so  unlike 
the  lapping  of  the  driven  tide  that  he  peered  over 
and  down  between  the  tamarisk  boughs. 

"Hullo  there!" 

"  Hullo!  "  a  voice  answered.  "  Is  that  some- 
one alive?    Here,  mate — for  Christ's  sake!  " 

"Hold  on!    Whereabouts  are  you  ?  " 

299 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"'  Down  in  this  here  cruel  water."  The  words 
ended  in  a  shuddering  cough. 

"  Right — hold  on  a  moment!  "  Taffy's  ankle 
pained  him,  but  the  wrench  was  not  serious.  The 
cliff  shelved  easily.  He  slid  down,  clutching  at 
the  tamarisk  boughs  which  whipped  his  face. 
"  Where  are  you?    I  can't  see." 

"  Here !  "  The  voice  was  not  a  dozen  yards 
awav. 

"  Swimming? " 

"  No — I've  got  a  water-breaker — can't  hold 
on  much  longer." 

"  I  believe  you  can  touch  bottom  there." 

"Hey?    I  can't  hear." 

"  Try  to  touch  bottom.  It's  firm  sand  here- 
abouts." 

"  So  I  can."  The  splashing  and  coughing 
came  nearer,  came  close.  Taffy  stretched  out  a 
hand.  A  hand,  icy-cold,  fumbled  and  gripped  it 
in  the  darkness. 

"  Christ!    Where's  a  place  to  lie  down?  " 

"  Here,  on  this  rock."  They  peered  at  each 
other,  but  could  not  see.  The  man's  teeth  chat- 
tered close  to  Taffy's  ear. 

"  Warm   my   hands,    mate — there's    a    good 

300 


THE    WRECK    OF    THE    SAMARITAN 

chap."  He  lay  on  the  rock  and  panted.  Taffy- 
took  his  hands  and  began  to  rub  them  briskly. 

"^Vhere's  the  ship?" 

"  Where's  the  ship?  "  He  seemed  to  turn  over 
the  question  in  his  mind,  and  then  stretched  him- 
self with  a  sigh.    "  How  the  hell  should  I  know  ? " 

"  What's  her  name?  "  Taffy  had  to  ask  the 
question  twice. 

''  The  Samaritan  of  Newport,  brigantine. 
Coals  she  carried.  Ha'n't  you  such  a  thing  as  a 
match?  It  seems  funny  to  me,  talkin'  here  like 
this,  and  me  not  knowin'  you  from  Adam." 

He  panted  between  the  words,  and  when  he 
had  finished,  lay  back  and  panted  again. 

"  Hurt?  "  asked  Taffy,  after  a  while. 

The  man  sat  up  and  began  to  feel  his  limbs, 
quite  as  though  they  belonged  to  some  other 
body.    "  No,  I  reckon  not." 

"  Then  we'd  best  be  starting.  The  tide's  ris- 
ing.   My  house  is  just  above  here." 

He  led  the  way  along  the  slippery  foreshore 
until  he  found  what  he  sought,  a  foot-track  slant- 
ing up  the  cliff.  Here  he  gave  the  sailor  a  hand 
and  they  mounted  together.  On  the  grass  slope 
above  they  met  the  gale  and  were  forced  to  drop 

on  their  hands  and  knees  and  crawl,  Taffy  lead- 

301 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

ing  and  shouting  instructions,  the  sailor  answer- 
ing each  with  "  Ay,  ay,  mate!  "  to  show  that  he 
understood. 

But  about  half  way  up,  these  answers  ceased, 
and  Taffy,  looking  round  and  calling,  found  him- 
self alone.  He  groped  his  way  back  for  twenty 
yards,  and  found  the  man  stretched  on  his  face 
and  moaning. 

"  I  can't  .  .  .  I  can't!  My  poor  brother! 
I  can't!" 

Taffy  knelt  beside  him  on  the  soaking  turf. 
"  Your  brother?    Had  you  a  brother  on  board?  " 

The  man  bowed  his  face  again  upon  the  turf. 
Taffy,  upright  on  both  knees,  heard  him  sobbing 
like  a  child  in  the  roaring  darkness. 

"  Come,"  he  coaxed;  and  putting  out  a  hand 
touched  his  wet  hair.  "  Come — "  They  crept 
forward  again ;  but  still  as  he  followed,  the  sailor 
cried  for  his  drowned  brother;  up  the  long  slope 
to  the  ridge  of  the  headland  where,  with  the 
light-house  and  warm  cottage  windows  in  view, 
all  speech  and  hearing  were  drowned  by  sting- 
ing hail  and  the  blown  grit  of  the  causeway. 

Humility  opened  the  door  to  them. 

"Taffy!    Where  have  you  been?  " 

"  There  has  been  a  wreck." 

302 


THE    WRECK    OF    THE    SAMARITAN 

"  Yes,  yes — tlie  coast-giiard  is  down  by  the 
light-house.  The  men  there  saw  her  before  she 
struck.  They  kept  signalling  till  it  fell  dark. 
They  had  sent  off  before  that." 

She  drew  back,  shrinking  against  the  dresser 
as  the  lamplight  fell  on  the  stranger.  Taffy 
turned  and  stared,  too.  The  man's  face  was  run- 
ning with  blood;  and  looking  at  his  own  hands 
he  saw  that  they  also  were  scarlet. 

He  helped  the  poor  wretch  to  a  chair. 

"  Bandages — can  you  manage?  "  She  nodded, 
and  stepped  to  a  cupboard.  The  sailor  began  to 
w' ail  like  an  infant. 

"  See — above  the  temple  here:  the  cut  isn't 
serious."  Taffy  took  do\Am  a  lantern  and  lit  it. 
The  candle  shone  red  through  the  smears  his 
fingers  left  on  the  horn  panes.  "  I  must  go  and 
help,  if  you  can  manage."    ■ 

"  I  can  manage,"  she  answered,  quietly. 

He  strode  out,  and  closing  the  door  behind 
him  with  an  effort,  faced  the  gale  again.  Down 
in  the  lee  of  the  light-house  the  lamps  of  the 
coast-guard  carriage  gleamed  foggily  through 
the  rain.  The  men  were  there  discussing, 
and  George  among  them.  He  had  just  gal- 
loped up. 

303 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

The  Chief  OjfRcer  went  off  to  question  the  sur- 
vivor, while  the  rest  began  their  search.  They 
searched  all  that  night;  they  burned  flares  and 
shouted;  their  torches  dotted  the  cliffs.  After 
an  hour  the  Chief  Officer  returned.  He  could 
make  nothing  of  the  sailor,  who  had  fallen  silly 
from  exhaustion  or  the  blow  on  his  head;  but 
he  divided  his  men  into  three  parties,  and  they 
began  to  hunt  more  systematically.  Taffy  was 
told  off  to  help  the  westernmost  gang  and  search 
the  rocks  below  the  light-house.  Once  or  twice 
he  and  his  comrades  paused  in  their  work,  hear- 
ing, as  they  thought,  a  cry  for  help.  But  when 
they  listened,  it  was  only  one  of  the  other  parties 
hailing. 

The  gale  began  to  abate  soon  after  midnight, 
and  before  dawn  had  blown  itself  out.  Day 
came  filtered  slowly  through  the  wrack  of  it  to 
the  southeast;  and  soon  they  heard  a  whistle 
blown,  and  there  on  the  cliff  above  them  was 
George  Vyell  on  horseback,  in  his  red  coat,  with 
an  arm  thrown  out  and  pointing  eastward.  He 
turned  and  galloped  off  in  that  direction. 

They  scrambled  up  and  followed.  To  their 
astonishment,  after  following  the  cliffs  for  a  few 
hundred   yards,   he   headed   inland,    down   and 

a04 


THE    WRECK    OF    THE    SAMARITAN 

across  the  very  slope  up  which  Taffy  had  crawled 
with  the  sailor. 

They  lost  sight  of  his  red  coat  among  the 
ridges.  Two  or  three — Taffy  amongst  them — 
ran  along  the  upper  ground  for  a  better  view. 

*'  Well,  this  beats  all !  "  panted  the  foremost. 

Below  them  George  came  into  view  again, 
heading  now  at  full  gallop  for  a  group  of  men 
gathered  by  the  shore  of  the  creek,  a  good  half- 
mile  from  its  mouth.  And  beyond — midway 
across  the  sandy  bed  where  the  river  wound — lay 
the  hull  of  a  vessel,  high  and  dry;  her  deck, 
naked  of  wheel-house  and  hatches,  canted  toward 
them  as  if  to  cover  from  the  morning  the  long 
wounds  ripped  by  her  uprooted  masts. 

The  men  beside  him  shouted  and  ran  on,  but 
Taffy  stood  still.  It  was  monstrous — a  thing  in- 
conceivable— that  the  seas  should  have  lifted  a 
vessel  of  three  hundred  tons  and  carried  her  half 
a  mile  up  that  shallow  creek.  Yet  there  she  lay. 
A  horrible  thought  seized  him.  Could  she  have 
been  there  last  night  when  he  had  drawn  the 
sailor  ashore?  And  had  he  left  four  or  five 
others  to  drown  close  by,  in  the  darkness?  No, 
the  tide  at  that  hour  had  scarcely  passed  half- 
flood.    He  thanked  God  for  that. 

305 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"Well,  there  she  lay,  high  and  dry,  with  plenty 
to  attend  to  her.  It  was  time  for  him  to  discover 
the  damage  done  to  the  light-house  plant  and 
machinery,  perhaps  to  the  building  itself.  In 
half  an  hour  the  workmen  would  be  arriving. 

He  walked  slowly  back  to  the  house,  and  found 
Humility  preparing  breakfast. 

"  Where  is  he  ?  "  Taffy  asked,  meaning  the 
sailor.    "In  bed?" 

"  Didn't  you  meet  him?  He  went  out  five 
minutes  ago — I  couldn't  keep  him — to  look  for 
his  brother,  he  said." 

Taffy  drank  a  cupful  of  tea,  took  up  a  crust, 
and  made  for  the  door. 

"  Go  to  bed,  dear,"  his  mother  pleaded.  "  You 
must  be  worn  out." 

"  I  must  see  how  the  works  have  stood  it." 

On  the  whole,  they  had  stood  it  well.  The 
gale,  indeed,  had  torn  away  the  wire  cable  and 
cage,  and  thus  cut  off  for  the  time  all  access  to 
the  outer  rock;  for  while  the  sea  ran  at  its  pres- 
ent height  the  scramble  out  along  the  ridge  could 
not  be  attempted  even  at  low  water.  But  from 
the  cliff  he  could  see  the  worst.  The  waves  had 
washed  over  the  building,  tearing  off  the  tem- 
porary covers,  and  churning  all  within.    Planks, 

806 


THE    WKECK    OF    THE    SAMARITAN 

scaffolding — everything  floatable — had  gone, 
and  strewed  the  rock  with  match-wood;  and — a 
marvel  to  see — one  of  his  two  heaviest  winches 
had  been  lifted  from  inside,  hurled  clean  over 
the  wall,  and  lay  collapsed  in  the  wreckage  of  its 
cast-iron  frame.  But,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  the 
dove-tailed  masonry  stood  intact.  A  voice  hailed 
him. 

"  What  a  night!  What  a  night!  " 

It  was  old  Pezzack,  aloft  on  the  gallery  of  the 
light-house  in  his  yellow  oilers,  already  polishing 
the  lantern-panes. 

Taffy's  workmen  came  straggling  and  gathered 
about  him.  They  discussed  the  damage  together 
but  without  addressing  Taffy ;  until  a  little  pock- 
marked fellow,  the  wag  of  the  gang,  nudged  a 
mate  slyly  and  said  aloud : 

"  By  God,  Bill,  we  can  build  a  bit — you  and 
me  and  the  boss !  " 

All  the  men  laughed ;  and  Taffy  laughed,  too, 
blushing.  Yes;  this  had  been  in  his  mind.  He 
had  measured  his  work  against  the  sea  in  its  fury, 
and  the  sea  had  not  beaten  him. 

A  cry  broke  in  upon  their  laughter.    It  came 

from  the  base  of  the  cliff  to  the  right — a  cry  so 

insistent  that  they  ran  toward  it  in  a  body. 

307 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Far  below  them,  on  the  edge  of  a  great  bowlder 
which  rose  from  the  broken  water  and  seemed  to 
overhang  it,  stood  the  rescued  sailor.  He  was 
pointing. 

Taffy  was  the  first  to  reach  him. 

''  It's  my  brother!    It's  my  brother  Sam!  " 

Taffy  flung  himself  full  length  on  the  rock  and 
peered  over.  A  tangle  of  ore-weed  awash  rose 
and  fell  about  its  base;  and  from  under  this,  as 
the  frothy  waves  drew  back,  he  saw  a  man's 
ankle  protruding,  and  a  foot  still  wearing  a  shoe. 

"It's  my  brother!  "  wailed  the  sailor  again. 
"  I  can  swear  to  the  shoe  of  en !  " 


308 


XXYI 

SALVAGE 

One  of  the  masons  lowered  himself  into  the 
pool,  and  thrusting  an  arm  beneath  the  ore-weed, 
began  to  grope. 

"  He's  pinned  here.  The  rock's  right  on  top 
of  him." 

Taffy  examined  the  rock.  It  weighed  fifteen 
tons  if  an  ounce;  but  there  were  fresh  and  deep 
scratches  upon  it.  He  pointed  these  out  to  the 
men,  who  looked  and  felt  them  with  their  hands 
and  stared  at  the  subsiding  waves,  trying  to  bring 
their  minds  to  the  measure  of  the  spent  gale. 

"  Here,  I  must  get  out  of  this!  "  said  the  man 
in  the  pool,  as  a  small  wave  dashed  in  and  sent 
its  spray  over  his  bowed  shoulders. 

"  You  ban't  going  to  leave  en,"  wailed  the 

sailor.     "  You  ban't  going  to  leave  my  brother 

Sam." 

He  was  a  small,  fussy  man,  with  red  whiskers; 

309 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

and  even  his  sorrow  gave  him  little  dignity.  The 
men  were  tender  with  him. 

"  I*Tothing  to  be  done  till  the  tide  goes  back." 

"  But  you  won't  leave  en  ?  Say  you  won't 
leave  en !  He've  a  wife  and  three  children.  He 
was  a  saved  man,  sir,  a  very  religious  man;  not 
like  me,  sir.  He  was  highly  respected  in  the 
neighborhood  of  St.  Austell.  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  the  newspapers  had  a  word  about  en.  .  .  ." 
The  tears  were  running  down  his  face. 

"  We  must  wait  for  the  tide,"  said  Taffy,  gen- 
tly, and  tried  to  lead  him  away,  but  he  would  not 
go.  So  they  left  him  to  watch  and  wait  while 
they  returned  to  their  work. 

Before  noon  they  recovered  and  fixed  the 
broken  wire  cable.  The  iron  cradle  had  disap- 
peared, but  to  rig  up  a  sling  and  carry  out  an 
endless  line  was  no  difficult  job,  and  when  this 
was  done  Taffy  crossed  over  to  the  island  rock 
and  began  to  inspect  damages.  His  working  gear 
had  suffered  heavily,  two  of  his  windlasses  were 
disabled,  scaffolding,  platforms,  hods,  and  loose 
planks  had  vanished;  a  few  small  tools  only  re- 
mained mixed  together  in  a  mash  of  puddled 
lime.    But  the  masonry  stood  unhurt,  all  except 

a  few  feet  of  the  upper  course  on  the  seaward 

310 


SALVAGE 

side,  where  the  gale,  giving  the  cement  no  time 
to  set,  had  shaken  the  dove-tailed  stones  in  their 
sockets — a  matter  easily  repaired. 

Shortly  before  three  a  shout  recalled  them  to 
the  mainland.  The  tide  was  drawing  toward  low 
water,  and  three  of  the  men  set  to  work  at  once 
to  open  a  channel  and  drain  off  the  pool  about 
the  base  of  the  big  rock.  While  this  was  doing, 
half  a  dozen  splashed  in  with  iron  bars  and  pick- 
axes ;  the  rest  rigged  two  stout  ropes  with  tackles, 
and  hauled.  The  stone  did  not  budge.  For 
more  than  an  hour  they  prized  and  levered  and 
strained.  And  all  the  while  the  sailor  ran  to  and 
fro,  snatching  up  now  a  pick  and  now  a  crowbar, 
now  lending  a  hand  to  haul  and  again  breaking 
off  to  lament  aloud. 

The  tide  turned,  the  winter  dark  came  down, 
and  at  half-past  four  Taffy  gave  the  word  to  de- 
sist. They  had  to  hold  back  the  sailor,  or  he 
would  have  jumped  in  and  drowned  beside  his 
brother. 

Taffy  slept  little  that  night,  though  he  needed 
sleep.  The  salving  of  this  body  had  become  al- 
most a  personal  dispute  between  the  sea  and  him. 
The  gale  had  shattered  two  of  his  windlasses;  but 
two  remained,  and  by  one  o'clock  next  day  he 

311 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

liad  both  slung  over  to  the  mainland  and  fixed 
beside  the  rock.  The  news  spreading  inland 
fetched  two  or  three  score  onlookers  before  ebb 
of  tide — miners  for  the  most  part,  whose  help 
could  be  counted  on.  The  men  of  the  coast- 
guard had  left  the  wreck,  to  bear  a  hand  if  need- 
ed. George  had  come,  too.  And,  happening  to 
glance  upward  while  he  directed  his  men,  Taffy 
saw  a  carriage  with  two  horses  drawn  up  on  the 
grassy  edge  of  the  cliff,  a  groom  at  the  horses' 
heads  and  in  the  carriage  a  figure  seated,  silhouet- 
ted there  high  against  the  clear  blue  heaven. 
Well  he  recognized,  even  at  that  distance,  the 
poise  of  her  head,  though  for  two  whole  years  he 
had  never  set  eyes  on  her,  nor  had  wished  to. 

He  knew  that  her  eyes  were  on  him  now.  He 
felt  like  a  general  on  the  eve  of  an  engagement. 
By  the  almanac  the  tide  would  not  turn  until 
4.35.  At  four,  perhaps,  they  could  begin;  but 
even  at  four  the  winter  twilight  would  be  on 
them,  and  he  had  taken  care  to  provide  torches 
and  distribute  them  among  the  crowd.  His  own 
men  were  making  the  most  of  the  daylight  left, 
drilling  holes  for  dear  life  in  the  upper  surface  of 
the  bowlder,  fixing  the  Lewis-wedges  and  rings. 
They  looked  to  him  for  every  order,  and  he  gave 

312 


SALVAGE 

it  ill  a  clear,  ringing  voice  which  he  knew  must 
carry  to  the  cliff-top.    He  did  not  look  at  George. 

He  felt  sure  in  his  own  mind  that  the  wedges 
and  rings  would  hold;  but  to  make  doubly  sure 
he  gave  orders  to  loop  an  extra  chain  under  the 
jutting  base  of  the  bowlder.  The  mason  who 
fixed  it,  standing  waist-high  in  water  as  the  tide 
ebbed,  called  for  a  rope  and  hitched  it  round  the 
ankle  of  the  dead  man.  The  dead  man's  brother 
jumped  down  beside  him  and  grasped  the  slack  of 
it. 

At  a  signal  from  Taffy  the  crowd  began  to 
light  their  torches.  He  looked  at  his  watch,  at 
the  tide,  and  gave  the  word  to  man  the  wind- 
lasses. Then  with  a  glance  toward  the  cliff  he 
started  the  working-chant — '^  Ayee-ho!  Ayee- 
lio !  "  The  two  gangs — twenty  men  to  each 
windlass — took  it  up  with  one  voice,  and  to  the 
deep  intoned  chant  the  chains  tautened,  shud- 
dered for  a  moment,  and  began  to  lift. 

''  Ayee-lio!'' 

Silently,  irresistibly,  the  chain  drew  the  rock 

from  its  bed.     To  Taffy  it  seemed  an  endless 

time,  to  the  crowd  but  a  few  moments,  before 

the  brute  mass  swung  clear.    A  few  thrust  their 

torches  down  toward  the  pit  where  the  sailor 

313 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

knelt.  Taffy  did  not  look,  but  gave  the  word  to 
pass  down  the  coffin  which  had  been  brought  in 
readiness.  A  clergyman — his  father's  successor, 
but  a  stranger  to  him — climbed  down  after  it; 
and  he  stood  in  the  quiet  crowd  watching  the 
light-house  above  and  the  lamps  which  the  groom 
had  lit  in  Honoria's  carriage,  and  listening  to  the 
bated  voices  of  the  few  at  their  dreadful  task 
below. 

It  was  five  o'clock  and  past  before  the  word 
came  up  to  lower  the  tackle  and  draw  the  coffin 
up.  The  Vicar  clambered  out  to  wait  it,  and 
when  it  came,  borrowed  a  lantern  and  headed 
the  bearers.    The  crowd  fell  in  behind. 

"  /  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life.     .     .     ." 

They  began  to  shuffle  forward  and  up  the  dif- 
ficult track;  but  presently  came  to  a  halt  with 
one  accord,  the  Vicar  ceasing  in  the  middle  of  a 
sentence. 

Out  of  the  night,  over  the  hidden  sea,  came 
the  sound  of  men's  voices  lifted,  thrilling  the 
darkness  thrice:  the  sound  of  three  British 
cheers. 

Whose  were  the  voices?     They  never  knew. 

A  few  had  noticed  as  twilight  fell  a  brig  in  the 

offing,  standing  inshore  as  she  tacked  down  chan- 

314 


SALVAGE 

nel.  Slie,  no  doubt,  as  they  worked  in  their  cir- 
cle of  torchlight,  had  sailed  in  close  before  going 
about,  her  crew  gathered  forward,  her  master 
perhaps  watching  through  his  night-glass;  had 
guessed  the  act,  saluted  it,  and  passed  on  her  way 
unknown  to  her  own  destiny. 

They  strained  their  eyes.  A  man  beside  Taffy 
declared  he  could  see  something — the  faint  glow 
of  a  binnacle  lamp  as  she  stood  away.  Taffy 
could  see  nothing.  The  voice  ahead  began  to 
speak  again.  The  Vicar,  pausing  now  and  again 
to  make  sure  of  his  path,  was  reading  from  a  page 
which  he  held  close  to  his  lantern. 

"  Thine  eyes  shall  see  the  King  in  his  heauty  : 
they  shall  hehold  the  land  that  is  very  far  off. 

"  Thou  shalt  not  see  a  fierce  peojjle,  ajpeople 
of  deeper  speech  than  thou  canst  jperceive  j  of  a 
stammering  tongue  that  thou  canst  not  under- 
stand. 

"  But  there  the  glorious  Lord  will  he  unto  us  a 
jplace  of  hroad  rivers  and  streams  /  wherein  shall 
go  no  galley  with  oars,  neither  shall  gallant  ship 
pass  therehy. 

"  For  the  Lord  is  our  judge,  the  Lord  is  our 
lawgiver,  the  Lord  is  our  king  /  he  will  save  us. 

"  Thy  tacTdings  are  loosed  /  they  could  not  well 

315 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

strengthen  their  mast,  they  could  not  spi^ead  the 
sail ;  there  is  the  jprey  of  a  great  spoil  divided ,' 
the  lame  take  the  j)rey.^'' 

Here  the  Vicar  turned  back  a  page  and  his 
voice  rang  higher : 

"  Behold,  a  king  shall  7'eign  in  righteousness, 
a?id_princes  shall  rule  in  judgment. 

^^  And  a  man  shall  he  as  an  hiding  place  from 
the  wind,  and  a  covert  from  the  temiyest ;  as 
7'ivers  of  water  in  a  dry  place,  as  the  shadow  of 
a  great  roch  in  a  weary  land. 

'■'■And  the  eyes  of  them  that  see  sliaJl  not  he 
dim.,  and  the  ears  of  them  that  hear  shall 
hearken.'^ 

I^ow  Taffy  walked  behind,  thinking  his  own 
thoughts ;  for  the  cheers  of  those  invisible  sailors 
had  done  more  than  thrill  his  heart.  A  finger, 
as  it  were,  had  come  out  of  the  night  and  touched 
his  brain,  unsealing  the  wells  and  letting  in  light 
upon  things  undreamt  of.  Through  the  bright 
confusion  of  this  sudden  vision  the  Vicar's  sen- 
tences sounded  and  fell  on  his  ears  unheeded. 
And  yet  while  they  faded  that  happened  which 
froze  and  bit  each  separate  word  into  his  memory, 
to  lose  distinctness  only  when  death  should  inter- 
fere, stop  the  active  brain  and  wipe  the  slate. 

3J6 


SALVAGE 

For  while  the  procession  halted  and  broke  up 
its  formation  for  a  moment  on  the  brow  of  the 
cliff,  a  woman  came  running  into  the  torchlight. 

"  Is  my  Joey  there?  Where's  he  to,  anybody? 
Hev  anyone  seen  my  Joey?  " 

It  was  Lizzie  Pezzack,  panting  and  bareheaded, 
with  a  scared  face. 

"  He's  lame — you'd  know  en.  Have  'ee  got 
en  there?    He's  wandered  off!  " 

"  Hush  up,  woman,"  said  a  bearer.  "  Don't 
keep  such  a  pore." 

"  The  cheeld's  right  enough  somewheres," 
said  another.  "  'Tis  a  man's  body  we've  got. 
Stand  out  of  the  way,  for  shame !  " 

But  Lizzie,  who,  as  a  rule,  shrank  away  from 
men  and  kept  herself  hidden,  pressed  nearer, 
turning  her  tragical  face  upon  each  in  turn.  Her 
eyes  met  George's;  but  she  appealed  to  him  as 
to  the  others. 

"  He's  wandered  off.  Oh,  say  you've  seen  en, 
somebody!  " 

Catching  sight  of  Taffy  she  ran  and  gripped 
him  by  the  arm. 

"  You'll  help !  It's  my  Joey.  Help  me  find 
en!" 

He  turned  half  about;    and  almost  before  he 

317 


(( 


ii 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

knew  what  he  sought,  his  eyes  met  George's. 
George  stepped  quietly  to  his  side. 

"  Let  me  get  my  mare,"  said  George,  and 
walked  away  toward  the  light-house  railing 
where  he  had  tethered  her. 

"  We'll  find  the  child.  Our  work's  done  here. 
Mr.  Saul!  "  Taffy  turned  to  the  Chief  Officer- 
Spare  us  a  man  or  two  and  some  flares." 
"  I'll  come  myself,"  said  the  Chief  Officer. 
Go  you  back,  my  dear,  and  we'll  fetch  home 
your  cheeld  as  right  as  nine-pence.  Hi,  Raw- 
lings,  take  a  couple  of  men  and  scatter  along  the 
cliffs  there  to  the  right.  Lame,  you  say?  He 
can't  have  gone  far." 

Taffy,  with  the  Chief  Officer  and  a  couple  of 
volunteers,  moved  off  to  the  left,  and  in  less 
than  a  minute  George  caught  them  up,  on  horse- 
back. 

"  I  say,"  he  asked,  walking  his  mare  close 
alongside  of  Taffy,  "  you  don't  think  this  serious, 
eh?" 

*^  I  don't  know.  Joey  wasn't  in  the  crowd,  or 
I  should  have  noticed  him.  He's  daring  beyond 
his  strength."  He  pulled  a  whistle  from  his 
pocket,  blew  it  twice  and  listened.     This  had 

been  his  signal  when  firing  a  charge;    he  had 

318 


SALVAGE 

often  blown  it  to  warn  the  child  to  creep  away 
into  shelter. 

There  was  no  answer. 

"  Mr.  Vyell  had  best  trot  along  the  upper 
slope,"  the  Chief  Officer  suggested,  "  while  we 
search  down  by  the  creek." 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  Taffy  answered.  "  Let's 
try  the  wreck  first." 

"  But  the  tide's  running.  He'd  never  go 
there." 

"  He's  a  queer  child.  I  know  him  better  than 
you." 

They  ran  downhill  toward  the  creek,  calling 
as  they  went,  but  getting  no  answer. 

"  But  the  wreck!  "  exclaimed  the  Chief  Of- 
ficer.   "  It's  out  of  reason !  " 

"Hi!  What  was  that?" 

"  Oh,  my  good  Lord,"  groaned  one  of  the  vol- 
unteers, "it's  the  crake,  master!  It's  Langona 
crake,  calling  the  drowned!  " 

"Hush,  you  fool!  Listen — I  thought  as 
much!  Light  a  flare,  Mr.  Saul — he's  out  there 
calling!  " 

The  first  match  sputtered  and  went  out.    They 

drew  close  around  the  Chief  Officer  while  he 

struck  the  second,  to  keep  off  the  wind,  and  in 

319 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

those  few  moments  the  child's  wail  reached  them 
distinctly  across  the  darkness. 

The  flame  leapt  up  and  shone,  and  they  drew 
back  a  pace,  shading  their  eyes  from  it  and  peer- 
ing into  the  steel-blue  landscape  which  sprang  on 
them  out  of  the  night.  They  had  halted  a  few 
yards  only  from  the  cliff,  and  the  flare  cast  the 
shadow  of  its  breast-high  fence  of  tamarisks  for- 
ward and  almost  half-way  across  the  creek;  and 
there  on  the  sands,  a  little  beyond  the  edge  of 
this  shadow,  stood  the  child. 

They  could  even  see  his  white  face.  He  stood 
on  an  island  of  sand,  around  which  the  tide 
swirled  in  silence,  cutting  him  off  from  shore, 
cutting  him  off  from  the  wreck  behind.  He  did 
not  cry  any  more,  but  stood  with  his  crutch 
planted  by  the  edge  of  the  widening  stream,  and 
looked  toward  them. 

And  Taffy  looked  at  George. 

"  I  know,"  said  George,  and  gathered  up  his 
reins.    "  Stand  aside,  please." 

As  they  drew  aside,  not  understanding,  he 
called  to  his  mare.  One  living  creature,  at  any 
rate,  could  still  trust  all  to  George  Vyell.  She 
hurtled  past  them  and  rose  at  the  tamarisk  hedge 
blindly.    Silence  followed — a  long  silence;  then 

320 


SALVAGE 

a  tlmd  on  the  beach  below  and  a  scuffle  of  stones ; 
silence  again,  and  then  the  cracking  of  twigs  as 
Taffy  plunged  after,  through  the  tamarisks,  and 
slithered  down  the  cliff. 

The  light  died  down  as  his  feet  touched  the 
flat  slippery  stones;  died  down,  and  was  re- 
newed again  and  showed  up  horse  and  rider, 
scarce  twenty  yards  ahead,  laboring  forward,  the 
mare  sinking  fetlock  deep  at  every  plunge. 

At  his  fourth  stride  Taffy's  feet,  too,  began  to 
sink;  but  at  every  stride  he  gained  something. 
The  riding  may  be  superb,  but  thirteen  stone  is 
thirteen  stone.    Taffy  weighed  less  than  eleven. 

He  caught  up  with  George  on  the  very  edge 
of  the  water.  ''  Make  her  swim  it!  "  he  panted; 
"  her  feet  mustn't  touch  here."  George  grunted. 
A  moment  later  all  three  were  in  the  water,  the 
tide  swirling  them  sideways,  sweeping  Taffy 
against  the  mare.  His  right  hand  touched  her 
flank  at  every  stroke. 

The  tide  swept  them  upward — upward  for  fif- 
teen yards  at  least;  though  the  channel  meas- 
ured less  than  eight  feet.  The  child,  who  had 
been  standing  opposite  the  point  where  they  took 
the  water,  hobbled  wildly  along  shore.    The  light 

on  the  cliff  behind  sank  and  rose  again. 

321 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"The  crutch,"  Taffy  gasped.  The  child 
obeyed,  laying  it  flat  on  the  brink  and  pushing 
it  toward  them.  Taffy  gripped  it  with  his  left 
hand,  and  with  his  right  found  the  mare's  bridle. 
George  was  bending  forward. 

"  No — not  that  way!  You  can't  go  back! 
The  wreck,  man! — it's  firmer " 

But  George  reached  out  his  hand  and  dragged 
the  child  toward  him  and  onto  his  saddle-bow. 
"  Mine,"  he  said,  quietly,  and  twitched  the  rein. 
The  brave  mare  snorted,  jerked  the  bridle  from 
Taffy's  hand,  and  headed  back  for  the  shore  she 
had  left. 

Rider,  horse,  and  child  seemed  to  fall  away 
from  him  into  the  night.  He  scrambled  out,  and 
snatching  the  crutch,  ran  along  the  brink,  star- 
ing at  their  black  shadows.  By  and  by  the  shad- 
ows came  to  a  standstill.  He  heard  the  mare 
panting,  the  creaking  of  saddle-leather  came 
across  the  nine  or  ten  feet  of  dark  water. 

"  It's  no  go,"  said  George's  voice;  then  to  the 
mare,  "  Sally,  my  dear,  it's  no  go."  A  moment 
later  he  asked  more  sharply, 

"  How  far  can  you  reach?  " 

Taffy  stepped  in  until  the  waves  ran  by  his 
knees.    The  sand  held  his  feet,  but  beyond  this 

322 


SALVAGE 

he  could  not  stand  against  the  current.  He 
reached  forward,  holding  the  crutch  at  arm's 
length. 

"  Can  you  catch  hold?  " 

"  All  right."  Both  knew  that  swimming 
would  be  useless  now ;  they  were  too  near  the  up- 
per apex  of  the  sand-bank. 

"  The  child  first.  Here,  Joey,  my  son,  reach 
out  and  catch  hold  for  your  life !  " 

Taffy  felt  the  child's  grip  on  the  crutch-head, 
and  drawing  it  steadily  toward  him,  hauled  the 
poor  child  through.  The  light  from  the  cliff  sank 
and  rose  behind  his  scared  face. 

"Got  him?" 

"  Yes."  The  sand  was  closing  around  Taffy's 
legs,  but  he  managed  to  shift  his  footing  a  little. 

"  Quick,  then;  the  bank's  breaking  up." 

George  was  sinking,  knee-deep  and  deeper. 
But  his  outstretched  fingers  managed  to  reach 
and  hook  themselves  around  the  crutch-head. 

"  Steady,  now  .  .  .  must  work  you  loose 
first.  Get  hold  of  the  shaft  if  you  can ;  the  head 
isn't  firm.    Work  your  legs    .    .    .    that's  it." 

George  wrenched  his  left  foot  loose  and  plant- 
ed it  against  the  mare's  flank.    Hitherto  the  brute 

had  trusted  her  master.     The  thrust  of  his  heel 

323 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

drove  home  her  sentence,  and  with  scream  after 
scream — the  sand  holding  her  past  hope — she 
plunged  and  fought  for  her  life.  Still  as  she 
screamed,  George,  silent  and  panting,  thrust 
against  her,  thrust  savagely  against  the  quivering 
body,  once  his  pride  for  beauty  and  fleetness. 

"  Pull !  "  he  gasped,  freeing  his  other  foot  with 
a  wrench  which  left  its  heavy  riding-boot  deep 
in  the  sucking  mud;  and  catching  a  new  grip  on 
the  crutch-head,  flung  himself  forward. 

Taffy  felt  the  sudden  weight  and  pulled — and 
while  he  pulled  felt  in  a  moment  no  grip,  no 
weight  at  all.  Between  two  hateful  screams  a 
face  slid  by  him,  out  of  reach,  silent,  with  parted 
lips;  and  as  it  slipped  away  he  fell  back  stagger- 
ing, grasping  the  useless,  headless  crutch. 

The  mare  went  on  screaming.  He  turned  his 
back  on  her,  and  catching  Joey  by  the  hand, 
dragged  him  away  across  the  melting  island.  At 
the  sixth  step  the  child,  hauled  off  his  crippled 
foot,  swung  blundering  across  his  legs.  He 
paused,  lifted  him  in  his  arms,  and  plunged  for- 
ward again. 

The  flares  on  the  cliff  were  growing  in  num- 
ber. They  cast  long  shadows  before  him.  On 
the  far  side  of  the  island  the  tide  flowed  swift  and 

321 


SALVAGE 

steady — a  stream  about  fourteen  yards  wide — 
cutting  him  from  the  farther  sand-bank  on  which, 
not  fifty  yards  above,  lay  the  wreck.  He  whis- 
pered to  Joey,  and  phmged  into  it  straight,  turn- 
ing as  the  water  swept  him  off  his  legs,  and  giving 
his  back  to  it,  his  hands  slipped  under  the  child's 
armpits,  his  feet  thrusting  against  the  tide  in 
slow  rhythmical  strokes. 

The  child  after  the  first  gasp  lay  still,  his  head 
obediently  thrown  back  on  Taffy's  breast.  The 
mare  had  ceased  to  scream.  The  water  rippled  in 
the  ears  as  each  leg-thrust  drove  them  little  by 
little  across  the  current. 

If  George  had  but  listened!  It  was  so  easy, 
after  all.  The  sand-bank  still  slid  past  them,  but 
less  rapidly.  They  were  close  to  it  now  and  had 
only  to  lie  still  and  be  drifted  against  the  leaning 
stanchions  of  the  wreck.  Taffy  flung  an  arm 
about  one  and  checked  his  way  quietly,  as  a  man 
brings  a  boat  alongside  a  quay.  He  hoisted  Joey 
first  upon  the  stanchion,  then  up  the  tilted  deck 
to  the  gap  of  the  main  hatchway.  Within  this, 
with  their  feet  on  the  steps  and  their  chests  lean- 
ing on  the  side  panel  of  the  companion,  they 
rested  and  took  breath. 

"Cold,  sonny?" 

825 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

The  child  burst  into  tears. 

Taffy  dragged  off  his  own  coat  and  wrapped 
him  in  it.  The  small  body  crept  close,  sobbing 
against  his  side. 

Across,  on  the  shore,  voices  were  calling,  blue 
eyes  moving.  A  pair  of  yellow  lights  came  tow- 
ard these,  travelling  swiftly  upon  the  hill-side. 
Taffy  guessed  what  they  were. 

The  yellow  lights  moved  more  slowly.  They 
joined  the  blue  ones,  and  halted.  Taffy  listened. 
But  the  voices  were  still  now;  he  heard  nothing 
but  the  hiss  of  the  black  water  across  which  those 
two  lamps  sought  and  questioned  him  like  eyes. 

"God  help  her!" 

He  bowed  his  face  on  his  arms.  A  little  while, 
and  the  sands  would  be  covered,  the  boats  would 
put  off;  a  little  while  .  .  .  Crouching  from 
those  eyes  he  prayed  God  to  lengthen  it. 


326 


XXYII 

HO  N  O  R  I  A 

She  was  sitting  there  rigid,  cold  as  a  statue, 
when  the  rescuers  brought  them  ashore  and 
helped  them  up  the  slope.  A  small  crowd  sur- 
rounded the  carriage.  In  the  rays  of  their  mov- 
ing lanterns  her  face  altered  nothing,  to  all  their 
furtive  glances  of  sympathy  opposing  the  same 
white  mask.  Someone  said,  "  There's  only  two, 
then !  "  Another  with  a  nudge  and  a  nod  at  the 
carriage,  told  him  to  hold  his  peace.  She  heard. 
Her  lips  hardened. 

Lizzie  Pezzack  had  rushed  down  to  the  shore 
to  meet  the  boat.  She  was  bringing  her  child 
along  with  a  fond  wild  babble  of  tender  names 
and  sobs  and  cries  of  thankfulness.  In  pauses, 
choked  and  overcome,  she  caught  him  to  her,  felt 
his  limbs,  pressed  his  wet  face  against  her  neck 
and  bosom.  Taffy,  supported  by  strong  arms  and 
hurried  in  her  wake,  had  a  hideous  sense  of  being 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

paraded  in  her  triumpli.  The  men  around  him 
who  had  raised  a  faint  cheer,  sank  their  voices 
as  they  neared  the  carriage ;  but  the  woman  went 
forward,  jubilant  and  ruthless,  flaunting  her  joj 
as  it  were  a  flag  blown  in  her  eyes  and  blindfold- 
ing them  to  the  grief  she  insulted. 

''Stay!" 

It  was  Honoria's  voice,  cold,  incisive,  not  to 
be  disobeyed.  He  had  prayed  in  vain.  The  pro- 
cession halted;  Lizzie  checked  her  babble  and 
stood  staring,  with  an  arm  about  Joey's  neck. 

"  Let  me  see  the  child." 

Lizzie  stared,  broke  into  a  silly  triumphant 
laugh,  and  thrust  the  child  forward  against  the 
cai'riage-step.  The  poor  waif,  drenched,  dazed, 
tottering  without  his  crutch,  caught  at  the  plated 
handle  for  support.  Honoria  gazed  down  on  him 
with  eyes  which  took  slow  and  pitiless  account 
of  the  deformed  little  body,  the  shrunken,  puny 
limbs. 

"  Thank  you.  So — this — is  what  my  husband 
died  for.    Drive  on,  please." 

Her  eyes,  as  she  lifted  them  to  give  the  order, 
rested  for  a  moment  on  Taffy — with  how  much 
scorn  he  cared  not,  could  he  have  leapt  and  inter- 
cepted Lizzie's  retort. 

328 


HONORIA 

"  And  why  not?  A  son's  a  son — curse  you! — 
though  he  was  your  man!  " 

It  seemed  she  did  not  hear;  or  hearing,  did 
not  understand.  Her  eyes  hardened;  their  fire 
on  Taffy  and  he,  lapped  in  their  scorn,  thanked 
God  she  had  not  understood. 

"  Drive  on,  please." 

The  coachman  lowered  his  whip.  The  horses 
moved  forward  at  a  slow  walk;  the  carriage 
rolled  silently  away  into  the  darkness.  She  had 
not  understood.  Taffy  glanced  at  the  faces  about 
him. 

"  Ah,  poor  lady!  "  said  someone.  But  no  one 
had  understood. 


They  found  George's  body  next  morning  on 
the  sands  a  little  below  the  foot-bridge.  He  lay 
there  in  the  morning  sunshine  as  though  asleep, 
with  an  arm  flung  above  his  head  and  on  his  face 
the  easy  smile  for  which  men  and  women  had 
liked  him  throughout  his  careless  life. 

The  inquest  was  held  next  day,  in  the  library 
at  Carwithiel.  Sir  Harry  insisted  on  being  pres- 
ent and  sat  beside  the  coroner.  During  Taffy's 
examination  his  lips  were  pursed  up  as  though 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

whistling  a  silent  tune.  Once  or  twice  he  nod- 
ded his  head. 

Taffy  gave  his  evidence  discreetly.  The  child 
had  been  lost;  had  been  found  in  a  perilous  posi- 
tion. He  and  deceased  had  gone  together  to  the 
rescue.  On  reaching  the  child,  deceased — 
against  advice — had  attempted  to  return  across 
the  sands  and  had  fallen  into  difficulties.  In 
these  his  first  thought  had  been  for  the  child, 
whom  he  had  passed  to  witness  to  drag  out  of 
danger.  When  it  came  to  deceased's  turn, 
the  crutch,  on  which  all  depended,  had  parted 
in  two  and  he  had  been  swept  away  by  the 
tide. 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  story  Sir  Harry  took 
snuff  and  nodded  twice.  Taffy  wondered  how 
much  he  knew.  The  jury,  under  the  coroner's 
direction,  brought  in  a  verdict  of  "  death  by  mis- 
adventure," and  added  a  word  or  two  in  praise  of 
the  dead  man's  gallantry.  The  coroner  compli- 
mented Taffy  warmly  and  promised  to  refer  the 
case  to  the  Royal  Humane  Society  for  public  rec- 
ognition. The  jury  nodded  and  one  or  two  said, 
"  Hear,  hear!  "  Taffy  hoped  fervently  he  would 
do  nothing  of  the  sort. 

The  funeral  took  place  on  the  fourth  day,  at 

330 


HONORIA 

nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Such — in  the  days 
I  write  of — was  the  custom  of  the  country. 
Friends  who  lived  at  a  distance  rose  and  shaved 
by  candle-light,  and  daybreak  found  them  horsed 
and  well  on  their  way  toward  the  house  of 
mourning,  their  errand  announced  by  the  long 
black  streamers  tied  about  their  hats.  The  sad 
business  over  and  done  with,  these  guests  re- 
turned to  the  house,  where,  until  noon,  a  mighty 
breakfast  lasted  and  all  were  welcome.  Their 
black  habiliments  and  lowered  voices  alone 
marked  the  difference  between  it  and  a  hunting- 
breakfast. 

And  indeed  this  morning  Squire  Willyams, 
who  had  taken  over  the  hounds  after  Squire 
Moyle's  death,  had  given  secret  orders  to  his 
huntsman;  and  the  pack  was  waiting  at  Three- 
barrow  Turnpike,  a  couple  of  miles  inland  from 
Cai-withiel.  At  half-past  ten  the  mourners 
drained  their  glasses,  shook  the  crumbs  off  their 
riding-breeches,  and  took  leave;  and  after  halt- 
ing outside  Carwithiel  gates  to  unpin  and  pocket 
their  hatbands,  headed  for  the  meet  with  one 
accord. 

A  few  minutes  before  noon  Squire  Willyams, 
seated  on  his  gray  by  the  edge  of  Three-barrow 
Brake  and  listening  to  every  sound  within  the 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

covert,  happened  to  glance  an  eye  across  the  val- 
ley, and  let  out  a  low  whistle. 

"  Well!  "  said  one  of  a  near  group  of  horse- 
men catching  sight  of  the  rider  pricking  toward 
them  down  the  farther  slope,  "  I  knew  en  for  an 
unbeliever;   but  this  beats  all." 

"  And  his  awnly  son  not  three  hours  under  the 
mould !  Brought  up  in  France  as  a  youngster  he 
was,  and  this  I  s'pose  is  what  comes  of  reading 
Voltaire.  My  lord  for  manners  and  no  more 
heart  than  a  wormed  nut — that's  Sir  Harry  and 
always  was." 

Squire  Willyams  slewed  himself  round  in  his 
saddle.  He  spoke  quietly  at  fifteen  yards'  dis- 
tance, but  each  word  reached  the  group  of  horse- 
men as  clear  as  a  bell. 

"  Eablin,"  he  said,  "  as  a  damned  fool  oblige 
me  during  the  next  few  minutes  by  keeping  your 
mouth  shut." 

With  this  he  resumed  his  old  attitude  and  his 
business  of  watching  the  covert  side;  removing 
his  eyes  for  a  moment  to  nod  as  Sir  Harry  rode  up 
and  passed  on  to  join  the  group  behind  him. 

He  had  scarcely  done  so  when  deep  in  the 

undergrowth  of  blackthorn  a  hound  challenged. 

"  Spendigo  for  a  fiver! — and  well  found,  by 

332 


IIO^^ORIA 

tlie  tune  of  it.  See  that  patch  of  gray  wall,  Kab- 
lin — there  in  a  line  beyond  the  Master's  elbow? 
I  lay  you  an  even  guinea  that's  where  my  gentle- 
man comes  over,  and  inside  of  sixty  seconds." 

But  honest  reprobation  mottled  the  face  of  Mr. 
Eablin,  squireen ;  and  as  an  honest  man  he  must 
speak  out.  Let  it  go  to  his  credit,  because  as  a 
rule  he  was  a  snob  and  inclined  to  cringe. 

"  I  did  not  expect  " — he  cleared  his  throat — 
"  to  see  you  out  to-day,  Sir  Harry." 

Sir  Harry  winced,  and  turned  on  them  all  a 
gray,  woful  face. 

"  That's  it,"  he  said.  "  I  can't  bide  home.  I 
can't  bide  home." 


Honoria  bided  home  with  her  child  and 
mourned  for  the  dead.  As  a  clever  woman — far 
cleverer  than  her  husband — she  had  seen  his 
faults  while  he  lived;  yet  had  liked  him  enough 
to  forgive  without  difficulty.  But  now  these 
faults  faded,  and  by  degrees  memory  reared  an 
altar  to  him  as  a  man  little  short  of  divine.  At 
the  worst  he  had  been  amiable.  A  kinder  hus- 
band never  lived.  She  reproached  herself  bit- 
terly with  the  half-heartedness  of  her  response  to 

333 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

his  love ;  to  his  love  while  it  dwelt  beside  her,  un- 
varying in  cheerful  kindness.  For  (it  was  the 
truth  alas !  and  a  worm  that  gnawed  continually) 
passionate  love  she  had  never  rendered  him.  She 
had  been  content ;  but  how  poor  a  thing  was  con- 
tentment !  She  had  never  divined  his  worth,  had 
never  given  her  worship.  And  all  the  while  he 
had  been  a  hero,  and  in  the  end  had  died  as  a 
hero.  Ah,  for  one  chance  to  redeem  the  wrong ! 
for  one  moment  to  bow  herself  at  his  feet  and 
acknowledge  her  blindness!  Her  prayer  was 
ancient  as  widowhood,  and  Heaven,  folding  away 
the  irreparable  time,  returned  its  first  and  last 
and  only  solace — a  dream  for  the  groping  arms; 
waking  and  darkness,  and  an  empty  pillow  for 
her  tears. 

From  the  first  her  child  had  been  dear  to  her; 
dearer  (so  her  memory  accused  her  now)  than  his 
father;  more  demonstratively  beloved,  at  any 
rate.  But  in  those  miserable  months  she  grew  to 
love  him  with  a  double  strength.  He  bore 
George's  name,  and  was  (as  Sir  Harry  pro- 
claimed) a  very  miniature  of  George;  repeated 
his  shapeliness  of  limb,  his  firm  shoulders,  his 
long  lean  thighs — the  thighs  of  a  born  horseman ; 

learned  to  walk,  and  lo!   within  a  week  walked 

334 


nONORIA 

with  his  father's  gait;  had  smiles  for  the  whole 
of  his  small  world,  and  for  his  mother  a  memory 
in  each. 

And  yet — this  was  the  strange  part  of  it,  a 
mystery  she  could  not  explain,  because  she  dared 
not  even  acknowledge  it — though  she  loved  him 
for  being  like  his  father,  she  regarded  the  like- 
ness with  a  growing  dread;  nay,  caught  herself 
correcting  him  stealthily  when  he  developed 
some  trivial  trait  which  she,  and  she  alone,  rec- 
ognized as  part  of  his  father's  legacy.  It  was 
what  in  the  old  days  she  would  have  called  "  con- 
tradictious ;  "  but  there  it  was,  and  she  could  not 
help  it;  the  nearer  George  in  her  memory  ap- 
proached to  faultlessness,  the  more  obstinately 
her  instinct  fought  against  her  child's  imitation 
of  him;  and  yet,  because  the  child  was  obstinate- 
ly George'S;  she  loved  him  with  a  double  love. 

There  came  a  day  when  he  told  her  a  childish 
falsehood.  She  did  not  whip  him,  but  stood  him 
in  front  of  her  and  began  to  reason  with  him  and 
explain  the  wickedness  of  an  untruth.  By  and 
by  she  broke  off  in  the  midst  of  a  sentence,  ap- 
palled by  the  shrillness  of  her  own  voice.  From 
argument  she  had  passed  to  furious  scolding. 
And  the  little  fellow  quailed  before  her,  his  con- 

335 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

trition  beaten  down  nnder  the  storm  of  words 
that  whistled  about  his  ears  without  meaning,  his 
small  faculties  disabled  before  this  spectacle  of 
wrath.  Her  fingers  were  closing  and  unclosing. 
They  wanted  a  riding-switch;  they  wanted  to 
grip  this  small  body  they  had  served  and  fondled, 
and  to  cut  out — What?  The  lie?  Honoria  hated 
a  lie.  But  while  she  paused  and  shook,  a  light 
flashed,  and  her  eyes  were  open,  and  saw — that 
it  was  not  the  lie. 

She  turned  and  ran,  ran  upstairs  to  her  own 
room,  flung  herself  on  her  knees  beside  the  bed, 
dragged  a  locket  from  her  bosom  and  fell  to  kiss- 
ing George's  portrait,  passionately  crying  it  for 
pardon.  She  was  wicked,  base;  while  he  lived 
she  had  misprized  him;  and  this  wasiier  abiding 
punishment,  that  even  repentance  could  purge 
her  heart  of  dishonoring  thoughts,  that  her  love 
for  him  now  could  never  be  stainless  though 
washed  with  daily  tears.  "  '  He  that  is  unjust 
let  him  he  unjust  still ' — Must  that  be  true, 
Father  of  all  mercies?  I  misjudged  him,  and  it 
is  too  late  for  atonement.  But  I  repent  and  am 
afliicted.  Though  the  dead  know  nothing — 
though  it  can  never  reach  or  avail  him — give  me 

back  the  power  to  be  just !  " 

336 


HONORIA 

Late  that  afternoon  Honoria  passed  an  hour 
piously  in  turning  over  the  dead  man's  wardrobe, 
shaking  out  and  brushing  the  treasured  garments 
and  folding  them,  against  moth  and  dust,  in  fresh 
tissue-paper.  It  was  a  morbid  task,  perhaps,  but 
it  kept  George's  image  constantly  before  her,  and 
this  was  what  her  remorseful  mood  demanded. 
Her  nerves  were  unstrung  and  her  limbs  languid 
after  the  recent  tempest.  By  and  by  she  locked 
the  doors  of  the  wardrobe,  and  passing  into  her 
own  bedroom,  flung  herself  on  a  couch  with  a 
bundle  of  papers — old  bills,  soiled  and  folded 
memoranda,  sporting  paragraphs  cut  from  the 
newspapers — scraps  found  in  his  pockets  months 
ago  and  religiously  tied  by  her  with  a  silken  rib- 
bon. They  were  mementoes  of  a  sort,  and 
George  had  written  few  letters  while  wooing — 
not  half  a  dozen,  first  and  last. 

Two  or  three  receipted  bills  lay  together  in  the 

middle  of  the  packet — one  a  saddler's,  a  second 

a  nurseryman's  for  pot-plants  (kept  for  the  sake 

of  its  queer  spelling),  a  third  the  reckoning  for  a 

hotel  luncheon.     She  was  running  over  them 

carelessly  when  the  date  at  the  head  of  this  last 

one  caught  her  eye.     "  August  3d  " — it  fixed 

337 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

her  attention  because  it  happened  to  be  the  day 
before  her  birthday. 

August  3d — such  and  such  a  year — the  Au- 
gust before  his  death;  and  the  hotel  a  well- 
known  one  in  Plymouth — the  hotel,  in  fact,  at 
which  he  had  usually  put  up.  .  .  .  Without 
a  prompting  of  suspicion  she  turned  back  and  ran 
her  eye  over  the  bill.  A  steak,  a  pint  of  claret, 
vegetables,  cheese,  and  attendance — never  was 
a  more  innocent  bill. 

Suddenly  her  attention  stifFened  on  the  date. 
George  was  in  Plymouth  the  day  before  her 
birthday.  But  no;  as  it  happened,  George  had 
been  in  Truro  on  that  day.  She  remembered,  be- 
cause he  had  brought  her  a  diamond  pendant, 
having  written  beforehand  to  the  Truro  jeweller 
to  get  a  dozen  down  from  London  to  choose  from. 
Yes,  she  remembered  it  clearly,  and  how  he  had 
described  his  day  in  Truro.  And  the  next  morn- 
ing— her  birthday  morning — he  had  produced 
the  pendant,  wrapped  in  silver  paper.  "  He  had 
thrown  away  the  case ;  it  was  ugly,  and  he  would 
get  her  another.    .    .    ." 

But  the  bill?  She  had  stayed  once  or  twice 
at  this  hotel  with  George,  and  recognized  the 
handwriting.     The  bookkeeper,  in  compliment 

338 


HONORIA 

perhaps  to  a  customer  of  standing,  had  written 
"  George  Vyell,  Esq.,"  in  full  on  the  bill-head; 
a  formality  omitted  as  a  rule  in  luncheon-reckon- 
ings. And  if  this  scrap  of  paper  told  the  truth — 
why  then  George  had  lied! 

But  why?  Ah,  if  he  had  done  this  thing, 
nothing  else  mattered;  neither  the  how  nor  the 
why !  If  George  had  lied.  .  .  .  And  the  pen- 
dant, had  that  been  bought  in  Plymouth  and  not 
(as  he  had  asserted)  in  Truro?  He  had  thrown 
away  the  case.  Jewellers  print  their  names  in- 
side such  cases.  The  pendant  was  a  handsome 
one.    Perhaps  his  check-book  would  tell. 

She  arose;  stepped  half-way  to  the  door;  but 
came  back  and  flung  herself  again  upon  the 
couch.  No;  she  could  not  .  .  .  this  was  the 
second  time  to-day  .  .  .  she  could  not  face 
the  torture  again. 

Yet    ...    if  George  had  lied ! 

She  sat  up ;  sat  up  with  both  hands  pressed  to 
her  ears,  to  shut  out  a  sudden  voice  clamoring 
through  them — 

^^And  v}hy  not  f  A  son's  a  son — curse  you — 
though  he  was  your  man  !  " 


339 


XXVIII 


A    OUTRANGE 


Lizzie  Pezzack  had  put  Joey  to  bed  and  was 
smoothing  his  coverlet,  when  she  heard  someone 
knocking.  She  passed  out  into  the  front  room, 
and  opened  to  the  visitor. 

On  the  doorstep  stood  a  lady  in  deep  black — 
Honoria.  Beyond  the  garden-wall  the  lamps  of 
her  carriage  blazed  in  the  late  twilight.  The 
turf  had  muffled  the  sound  of  wheels;  but  now 
the  jingle  of  shaken  bits  came  loud  through  the 
open  door. 

"  Ah !  "  said  Lizzie,  drawing  her  breath  back 
through  her  teeth. 

"  I  must  speak  to  you,  please.  May  I  come  in? 
I  have  a  question.    .    .    ." 

Lizzie  turned  her  back,  struck  a  match,  and  lit 
a  candle.  "What  question?"  she  asked,  with 
her  back  turned,  her  eyes  on  the  flame  as  it  sank, 
warming  the  tallow,  and  grew  bright  again. 

"  It's    .    .    .    it's  a  question,"    Honoria  be- 

340 


A    OUTEANCE 

gan,  weakly;  then  shut  the  door  behind  her  and 
advanced  into  the  room.  "  Turn  round  and  look 
at  me.    Ah,  you  hate  me,  I  know !  " 

"  Yes,"  Lizzie  assented,  slowly,  "  I  hate  you." 

"  But  you  must  answer  me.  You  see,  it  isn't 
for  me  alone  .  .  .  it's  not  a  question  of 
our  hating,  in  a  way  ...  it  concerns 
others.    .    .    ." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  But  it's  cow^ardly  of  me  to  put  it  so ;  because 
it  concerns  me,  too — you  don't  know " 

''  Maybe  I  do." 

"  But  if  you  did — "  Honoria  broke  off,  and 
then  plunged  forward  desperately.  "  That  child 
of  yours — his  father — alone  here — by  ourselves. 
.    .    .    Think  before  you  refuse !  " 

Lizzie  set  down  the  candle  and  eyed  her. 

"  And  you,"  she  answered  at  length,  dragging 
out  each  word,  " — you  can  come  here  and  ask 
me  that  question?  " 

For  a  moment  silence  fell  between  them  and 
each  could  hear  the  other's  breathing.  Then 
Honoria  drew  herself  up  and  faced  her  honestly, 
casting  out  both  hands. 

"  Yes,  I  had  to." 

''You!    a  lady " 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  Ah,  but  be  honest  with  me !  Lady  or  not, 
what  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  We  are  two  women 
— that's  where  it  all  started,  and  we're  kept  to 
that." 

Lizzie  bent  her  brows.  "  Yes,  you  are  right," 
she  admitted. 

"  And,"  Honoria  pursued,  eagerly,  "  if  I 
come  here  to  sue  you  for  the  truth — it  is  you 
who  force  me." 

"  By  what  you  said  that  night,  when  George 
— when  my  husband — was  drowned;  when  you 
cursed  me.  '  A  son's  a  son,'  you  said,  '  though 
he  was  my  man.'  " 

"  Did  I  say  that? "  Lizzie  seemed  to  muse 
over  the  words.  "You  have  suffered?"  she 
asked. 

"  Yes,  I  have  suffered." 

"  Ah!  if  I  thought  so!    .     .     .    But  you  have 

not.     You  are  a  hypocrite,  Mrs.  Vyell,  and  you 

are  trying  to  cheat  me  now.    You  come  here,  not 

to  end  that  suffering,  but  to  force  a  word  from 

me  that'll  put  joy  and  hope  into  you;  that  you'll 

go  home  hugging  in  your  heart.     Oh,  I  know 

you!" 

"You  do  not!" 

342 


A    OUTRANGE 

"  I  do — because  I  know  myself.  From  a 
child  I've  been  dirt  to  your  pride,  an  item  to  your 
money.  For  years  I've  lived  a  shamed  woman. 
But  one  thing  I  bought  with  it — one  little  thing. 
Think  the  price  high  for  it — I  dessay  it  is;  but  I 
bought  and  paid  for  it — and  often  when  I  turn  it 
over  in  mind  I  don't  count  the  price  too  dear." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  You  may,  if  you  try.  What  I  bought  was 
the  power  over  you,  my  proud  lady.  While  I 
keep  tight  lips  I  have  you  at  the  end  of  a  chain. 
You  come  here  to-night  to  break  it;  one  little 
word  and  you'll  be  free  and  glad.  But  no,  and 
no,  and  no!  You  may  guess  till  you're  tired — 
you  may  be  sure  in  your  heart;  but  it's  all  no 
good  without  that  little  word  you'll  never  get 
from  me." 

*'  You  sJiall  speak!  " 

Lizzie  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  picked  up 
the  candle. 

"  Simme,"  she  said,  "  you'd  best  go  back  to 
your  carriage  and  horses.  My  li'l  boy's  in  the 
next  room,  tryin'  to  sleep;  and  'tisn'  fit  he  heard 
much  of  this." 

She  passed  resolutely  into  the  bedroom,  leav- 
ing her  visitor  to  darkness.     But  Ilonoria,  des- 

343 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

perate  now,  pushed  after  her,  scarcely  knowing 
what  she  did  or  meant  to  do. 

"  You  shall  speak !  " 

The  house-door  opened  and  light  foot-steps 
came  running  through  the  outer  room.  It  was 
little  George,  and  he  pulled  at  her  skirts. 

"  Mummy,  the  horses  are  taking  cold!  " 

But  Honoria  still  advanced.  "  You  shall 
speak!  " 

Joey,  catching  sight  of  her  from  the  bed, 
screamed  and  hid  his  face.  To  him  she  was  a 
thing  of  horror.  From  the  night  when,  thrust 
beneath  her  eyes,  he  had  cowered  by  her  car- 
riage-step, she  had  haunted  his  worst  dreams. 
And  now,  black-robed  and  terrible  of  face,  she 
had  come  to  lay  hands  on  him  and  carry  him 
straight  to  hell. 

"Mother!    Take  her  away!  take  her  away !  " 

His  screams  rang  through  the  room.  "  Hush, 
dear!  "  cried  Lizzie,  running  to  him;  and  laid  a 
hand  on  his  shoulder. 

But  the  child,  far  too  ten-ified  to  know  whose 
hand  it  was,  flung  himself  from  her  with  a  wilder 
scream  than  any;  flung  himself  all  but  free  of 
the  bed-clothes.  As  Lizzie  caught  and  tried  to 
hold  him  the  thin  nightshirt  ripped  in  her  fin- 

344 


A    OUTEANCE 

gers,  laying  bare  the  small  back  from  shoulder  to 
buttock. 

They  were  woman  to  woman  now;  cast  back 
into  savagery  and  blindly  groping  for  its  primi- 
tive weapons.  Honoria  crossed  the  floor,  not 
knowing  what  she  meant  to  do,  or  might  do. 
Lizzie  sprang  to  defence  against  she  knew  not 
what.  But  when  her  enemy  advanced,  tower- 
ing, with  a  healthy  boy  dragging  at  her  skirts, 
she  did  the  one  thing  she  could — turned  with  a 
swift  cry  back  upon  her  own  crippled  child  and 
caught  at  the  bed-clothes  to  cover  and  hide  his 
naked  deformity. 

While  she  crouched  and  shielded  him,  silence 
fell  on  the  room.  She  had  half  expected  Ho- 
noria to  strike  her;  but  no  blow  came,  nor  any 
sound.  By  and  by  she  looked  up.  Honoria 
had  come  to  a  standstill,  with  rigid  eyes.  They 
were  fastened  on  the  bed.  Then  Lizzie  under- 
stood. 

She  had  covered  the  child's  legs  from  sight; 
but  not  his  back — nor  the  brown  mole  on  it — the 
large  brown  mole,  ringed  like  Saturn,  set 
obliquely  between  the  shoulder-blades. 

She  rose  from  the  bed  slowly.  Honoria  turned 

on  little  George  with  a  gesture  as  if  to  fling 

345 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

off  his  velvet  jacket.  But  Lizzie  stamped  her 
foot. 

"No,"  she  commanded,  hoarsely;  "let  be! 
Mine  is  a  cripple." 

"  So  it  is  true  ..."  Honoria  desisted; 
but  her  eyes  were  wide  and  still  fixed  on  the  bed. 

"  Yes,  it  is  true.  You  have  all  the  luck. 
Mine  is  a  cripple." 

Still  Honoria  stared.  Lizzie  gulped  down 
something  in  her  throat,  but  her  voice,  when  she 
found  it  again,  was  still  hoarse  and  strained. 

"  And  now — go !  You  have  learnt  what  you 
came  for.  You  have  won,  because  you  stop  at 
nothing.  But  go,  before  I  try  to  kill  you  for  the 
joy  in  your  heart!  " 

"  Joy?  "  Honoria  put  out  a  hand  toward  the 
bed's  foot,  to  steady  herself.  It  was  her  turn  to 
be  weak. 

"  Yes — joy."  Lizzie  stepped  between  her  and 
the  door,  pointed  a  finger  at  her  and  held  it 
pointing,  "  In  your  heart  you  are  glad  already. 
Wait,  and  in  a  moment  I  shall  see  it  in  your 
eyes — glad,  glad !  Yes,  your  man  was  worthless, 
and  you  are  glad.    But  oh!  you  bitter  fool!  " 

"  Let  me  go,  please." 

"Listen  a  bit;  no  hurry  now.    Plenty  of  time 

346 


A    OUTRANGE 

to  be  glad  'twas  only  your  husband,  not  the 
man  of  your  heart.  Look  at  me,  and  answer — I 
don't  count  for  much  now,  do  I?  !Not  much  to 
hate  in  me,  now  you  know  the  name  of  my 
child's  father,  and  that  'tisn'  Taffy  Raymond !  " 

"  Let  me  go."  But  seeing  that  Lizzie  would 
not,  she  stopped  and  kissed  her  boy.  "  Run  out 
to  the  carriage,  dear,  and  say  I'll  be  coming  in  a 
mmute  or  two."  Little  George  clung  to  her  wist- 
fully, but  her  tone  meant  obedience.  Lizzie 
stepped  aside  to  let  him  pass  out. 

"  Now,"  said  Honoria,  "  the  next  room  is  best, 
I  think.    Lead  me  there,  and  I  will  listen." 

"  You  may  go  if  you  like." 

"  No ;  I  will  listen.  Between  us  two  there  is 
— there  is " 

"  That.''  Lizzie  nodded  toward  the  child 
huddling  low  in  the  bed. 

"  That,  and  much  more.  We  cannot  stop  at 
the  point  you've  reached.  Besides,  I  have  a 
question  to  ask." 

Lizzie  passed  before  her  into  the  front  room, 
lit  two  candles,  and  drew  down  the  blind. 

"  Ask  it,"  she  said. 

"  How  did  you  know  that  I  believed  the  other 

• — Mr.  Raymond — to  be — "    She  came  to  a  halt 

347 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

"  I  guessed." 

"  What?     From  the  beginning?  " 

"  No;  it  was  after  a  long  while.  And  then, 
all  of  a  sudden,  something  seemed  to  make  me 
clever." 

"  Did  you  know  that,  believing  it,  I  had  done 
Mm  a  great  wrong — injured  his  life  beyond  re- 
pair? " 

"  I  knew  something  had  happened:  that  he'd 
given  up  being  a  gentleman  and  taken  to  build- 
er's work.  I  thought  maybe  you  were  at  the 
bottom  of  it.  Who  was  it  told  you  lies  about 
en?" 

"  Must  I  answer  that?  " 

"  Ko ;  no  need.  George  Vyell  was  a  nice  fel- 
low; but  he  was  a  liar.  Couldn'  help  it,  I  b'- 
lieve.    But  a  dirty  trick  like  that — well,  well !  " 

Honoria  started  at  her,  confounded.  "  You 
never  loved  my  husband  ?  " 

And  Lizzie  laughed — actually  laughed;  she 
was  so  weary.  "  No  more  than  you  did,  my  dear. 
Perhaps  a  little  less.  Eh,  what  two  fools  we  are 
here,  fending  off  the  truth!  Fools  from  the 
start — and  now,  simme,  playing  foolish  to  the 
end;  ay,  when  all's  said  and  naked  atween  us. 
Lev'    us   quit   talkin'    of   George   Vyell.      We 

348 


A    OUTRANGE 

knawed  George  Vjell,  you  and  me,  too;  and 
here  we  be,  left  to  rear  children  by  en.  But  tlie 
man  we  hated  over  wasn'  George  Vyell." 

"  Yet  if — as  you  say — you  loved  him — the 
other  one — why,  when  you  saw  his  life  ruined 
and  guessed  the  lie  that  ruined  it — when  a 
word  could  have  righted  him — if  you  loved 
him " 

"  Why  didn'  I  speak?  Ladies  are  most  dull, 
somehow;  or  else  you  don't  try  to  see.  Or  else 
— wasn't  he  near  me,  passing  my  door  ivery  day? 
Oh,  I'm  ignorant  and  selfish.  But  hadn't  I  got 
him  near?  And  wouldn't  that  word  have  lost 
him,  sent  him  God  knows  where — to  you  per- 
haps ?  You — you'd  had  your  chance,  and  squan- 
dered it  like  a  fool.  I  never  had  no  chance.  I 
courted  en,  but  he  wouldn't  look  at  me.  He'd 
have  come  to  your  whistle — once.  Nothing  to 
hinder  but  your  money.  And  from  what  I  can 
see  and  guess,  you  piled  up  that  money  in  his 
face  like  a  hedge.  Oh,  I  could  pity  you,  now! 
for  now  you'll  never  have  'n." 

"  God  pity  us,  both,"  said  Honoria,  going; 

but  she  turned  at  the  door.     "  And  after  our 

marriage  you  took  no  more  thought  of  my — of 

George  ?  "     The  question  was  an  afterthought ; 

349 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

she  never  thought  to  see  it  stab  as  it  did.  But 
Lizzie  caught  at  the  table-edge,  held  to  it  sway- 
ing over  a  gulf  of  hysterics,  and  answered  be- 
tween a  sob  and  a  passing  bitter  laugh. 

"  At  the  last — just  to  try  en.  No  harm  done, 
as  it  happened.  You  needn'  mind.  He  was 
worthless,  anyway." 

Honoria  stepped  back,  took  her  by  the  elbow 
as  she  swayed,  and  seated  her  in  a  chair;  and  so 
stood  regarding  her  as  a  doctor  might  a  patient. 
After  a  while  she  said : 

"  I  think  you  will  do  me  injustice,  but  you 
must  believe  as  you  like.  I  am  not  glad.  I  am 
very  far  from  glad  or  happy.  I  doubt  if  I  shall 
ever  be  happy  again.  But  I  do  not  hate  you  as  I 
did." 

She  went  out,  closing  the  door  softly. 


350 


XXIX 

THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Taffy  guessed  nothing  of  these  passions  in  con- 
flict, these  weak  agonies.  He  went  about  his 
daily  work,  a  man  grown,  thinking  his  own 
thoughts;  and  these  thoughts  were  of  many 
things;  but  they  held  no  room  for  the  problem 
which  meant  everything  in  life  to  Honoria  and 
Lizzie — yes,  and  to  Humility,  though  it  haunted 
her  in  less  disturbing  shape.  Humility  pondered 
it  quietly  with  a  mind  withdrawn  while  her 
hands  moved  before  her  on  the  lace-pillow ;  and 
pondering  it,  she  resigned  the  solution  to  time. 
But  it  filled  her  thoughts  constantly,  none  the 
less. 

One  noon  Taffy  returned  from  the  light- 
house for  his  dinner,  to  find  a  registered  postal 
packet  lying  on  the  table.  He  glanced  up  and 
met  his  mother's  gaze,  but  let  the  thing  lie  while 
he  ate  his  meal,  and  having  done,  picked  it  up 

and  carried  it  away  with  him  unopened. 

351 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

On  the  clifF-side,  in  a  solitary  place,  he  broke 
the  seal.  He  guessed  well  enough  what  the 
packet  contained;  the  silver  medal  procured  for 
him  by  the  too  officious  coroner.  And  the  coro- 
ner, finding  him  obstinate  against  a  public  pres- 
entation, had  forwarded  the  medal  with  an  effu- 
sive letter.  Taffy  frowned  over  its  opening  sen- 
tences, and  without  reading  further  crumpled 
the  paper  into  a  tight  ball.  He  turned  to  exam- 
ine the  medal,  holding  it  between  finger  and 
thumb;  or  rather,  his  eyes  examined  it  while  his 
brain  ran  back  along  the  tangled  procession  of 
hopes  and  blunders,  wrongs  and  trials  and  lessons 
hardly  learnt,  of  which  this  mocking  piece  of 
silver  symbolized  the  end  and  the  reward.  In 
that  minute  he  saw  Honoria  and  George,  himself 
and  Lizzie  Pezzack  as  figures  travelling  on  a  road 
that  stretched  back  to  childhood;  saw  behind 
them  the  anxious  eyes  of  his  parents.  Sir  Harry's 
debonair  smile,  the  sinister  face  of  old  Squire 
Moyle,  malevolent  yet  terribly  afraid;  saw  that 
the  moving  figures  could  not  control  their  steps, 
that  the  watching  faces  were  impotent  to  warn; 
saw  finally  beside  the  road  other  ways  branching 
to  left  and  right,  and  down  these  undestined  and 
neglected  avenues  the  ghosts  of  ambitious  unat- 

352 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

tempted,  lives  not  lived,  all  that  miglit  have 
been. 

Well,  here  was  the  end  of  it,  this  ironical 
piece  of  silver.  With  sudden  anger  he  flung  it 
from  him;  sent  it  spinning  far  out  over  the 
waters.  And  the  sea,  his  old  sworn  enemy,  took 
the  votive  offering.  He  watched  it  drop — drop; 
saw  the  tiny  splash  as  it  disappeared. 

And  with  that  he  shut  a  door  and  turned  a 
key.  He  had  other  thoughts  to  occupy  him — 
great  thoughts.  The  light-house  was  all  but 
built.  The  Chief  Engineer  had  paid  a  sui-prise 
visit,  praised  his  work,  and  talked  about  another 
sea-light  soon  to  be  raised  on  the  North  Welsh 
Coast;  used  words  that  indeed  hinted,  not  ob- 
scurely, at  promotion.  And  Taffy's  blood  tin- 
gled at  the  prospect.  But,  out  of  working  hours, 
his  thoughts  were  not  of  light-houses.  He 
bought  maps  and  charts.  On  Sundays  he  took 
far  walks  along  the  coast,  starting  at  daybreak, 
retm'ning  as  a  rule  long  after  dark,  mired  and 
footsore  and  at  supper  too  weary  to  talk  with  his 
mother,  whose  eyes  watched  him  always. 

It  was  a  still  autumn  evening  when  Honoria 

came  riding  to  visit  Humility;    the  close  of  a 

353 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

golden  day.  Its  gold  lingered  yet  along  tlie  west 
and  fell  on  the  wliite-washed  doorway  where  Hu- 
mility sat  with  her  lace-work.  Behind,  in  the 
east,  purple  and  dewy,  climbed  the  domed  shad- 
ow of  the  world.  And  over  all  lay  that  hush 
which  the  earth  only  knows  when  it  rests  in  the 
few  weeks  after  harvest.  Out  here,  on  barren 
cliffs  above  the  sea,  folks  troubled  little  about 
harvest.  But  even  out  here  they  felt  and  knew 
the  hush. 

In  sight  of  the  whitewashed  cottages  Honoria 
slipped  down  from  her  saddle,  removed  Aide- 
de-camp's  bridle  and  turned  him  loose  to  browse. 
With  the  bridle  on  her  arm  she  walked  forward 
alone.  She  came  noiselessly  on  the  turf  and  with 
the  click  of  the  gate  her  shadow  fell  at  Humil- 
ity's feet.  Humility  looked  up  and  saw  her 
standing  against  the  sunset,  in  her  dark  habit. 
Even  in  that  instant  she  saw  also  that  Honoria's 
face,  though  shaded,  was  more  beautiful  than  of 
old.  "  More  dangerous,"  she  told  herself;  and 
rose,  knowing  that  the  problem  was  to  be  solved 
at  last. 

"  Good-evening!  "  she  said,  rising.  "  Oh  yes 
— you  must  come  inside,  please;  but  you  will 
have  to  forgive  our  untidiness." 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Honoria  followed,  wondering  as  of  old  at  the 
beautiful  manners  which  dignified  Humility's 
simplest  words. 

"  I  heard  that  you  were  to  go." 

"  Yes ;  we  have  been  packing  for  a  week  past. 
To  ISTorth  Wales  it  is — a  forsaken  spot  no  better 
than  this.  But  I  suppose  that's  the  sort  of  spot 
where  lighthouses  are  useful." 

The  sun  slanted  in  upon  the  packed  trunks 
and  dismantled  walls;  but  it  blazed  also  upon 
brass  window-catches,  fender-knobs,  door-han- 
dles— all  polished  and  flashing  like  mirrors. 

"  I  am  come,"  said  Honoria,  "  now  at  the  last 
— to  ask  your  pardon." 

"  At  the  last?  "  Humility  seemed  to  muse, 
staring  down  at  one  of  the  trunks ;  then  went  on 
as  if  speaking  to  herself.  "  Yes,  yes,  it  has  been 
a  long  time." 

"A  long  injury — a  long  mistake;  you  must 
believe  it  was  an  honest  mistake." 

"  Yes,"  said  Humility,  gravely.  "  I  never 
doubted  you  had  been  misled.  God  forbid  I 
should  ask  or  seek  to  know  how." 

Honoria  bowed  her  head. 

"  And,"  Humility  pursued,  "  we  had  put  our- 
selves in  the  wrong  by  accepting  help.    One  sees 

355 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

now  it  is  always  best  to  be  independent;  tbongb 
at  the  time  it  seemed  a  fine  prospect  for  him. 
The  worst  was  our  not  telling  him.  That  was 
terribly  unfair.  As  for  the  rest — well,  after  all, 
to  know  yourself  guiltless  is  the  great  thing,  is  it 
not?  What  others  think  doesn't  matter  in  com- 
parison with  that.  And  then  of  course  he  knew 
that  I,  his  mother,  never  believed  the  falsehood, 
no,  not  for  a  moment." 

"But  it  spoiled  his  life?" 

l^ow  Humility  had  spoken,  and  still  stood, 
with  her  eyes  resting  on  the  trunk.  Beneath  its 
lid,  she  knew,  and  on  top  of  Taffy's  books  and 
other  treasures,  lay  a  parcel  wrapped  in  tissue- 
paper — a  dog  collar  with  the  inscription  "  Hon- 
oria  from  Taffy.''  So,  by  lifting  the  lid  of  her 
thoughts  a  little  —  a  very  little  —  more,  she 
might  have  given  Honoria  a  glimpse  of  some- 
thing which  her  actual  answer,  truthful  as  it  was, 
concealed. 

"  'No.  I  wouldn't  say  that.  If  it  had  spoilt 
his  life — well,  you  have  a  child  of  your  own  and 
can  understand.  As  it  is,  it  has  strengthened 
him,  I  think.  He  will  make  his  mark — in  a  dif- 
ferent way.     Just  now  he  is  only  a  foreman 

356 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

among  masons;  but  he  has  a  career  opening. 
Yes,  I  can  forgive  you  at  last." 

And,  being  Humility,  she  had  spoken  the 
truth.  But  being  a  woman,  even  in  the  act  of 
pardon  she  could  not  forego  a  small  thrust,  and 
in  giving  must  withhold  something. 

And  Honoria,  being  a  woman,  divined  that 
something  was  withheld. 

''  And  Taffy — your  son — do  you  think  that 
he f  " 

"  He  never  speaks,  if  he  thinks  of  it.  He  will 
be  here  presently.  You  know — do  you  not? — 
they  are  to  light  the  great  lantern  on  the  new 
light-house  to-night  for  the  first  time.  The  men 
have  moved  in,  and  he  is  down  with  them  mak- 
ing preparations.  You  have  seen  the  notices  of 
the  Trinity  Board?  They  have  been  posted  for 
months.  Taify  is  as  eager  over  it  as  a  boy;  but 
he  promised  to  be  back  before  sunset  to  drink  tea 
with  me  in  honor  of  the  event;  and  afterward  I 
was  to  walk  down  to  the  cliff  with  him  to  see." 

"  Would  you  mind  if  I  stayed?  " 

Humility  considered  before  answering.     "  I 

had  rather  you  stayed.    He's  like  a  boy  over  this 

business;  but  he's  a  man,  after  all." 

357 


THE    SHIP    or    STAES 

After  this  they  fell  into  quite  trivial  talk  while 
Humility  prepared  the  tea-things. 

"  Your  mother — Mrs.  Venning — how  does 
she  face  the  journey?  " 

"  You  must  see  her,"  said  Humility,  smiling, 
and  led  her  into  the  room  where  the  old  lady  re- 
clined in  bed,  with  a  flush  on  each  waxen  cheek. 
She  had  heard  their  voices. 

"  Bless  you  " — she  was  quite  cheerful — "  I'm 
ready  to  go  as  far  as  they'll  carry  me !  All  I  ask 
is  that  in  the  next  place  they'll  give  me  a  window 
where  I  can  see  the  boy's  lamp  when  he's  built 
it." 

Humility  brought  in  the  table  and  tea-things 
and  set  them  out  by  the  invalid's  bed.  She  went 
out  into  the  kitchen  to  look  to  the  kettle.  In 
that  pause  Honoria  found  it  difiicult  to  meet  Mrs. 
Venning's  eyes ;  but  the  old  lady  was  wise  enough 
to  leave  grudges  to  others.  It  was  enough,  in  the 
time  left  to  her,  to  accept  what  happened  and 
leave  the  responsibility  to  Providence. 

Honoria,  replying  but  scarcely  listening  to  her 

talk,  heard  a  footfall  at  the  outer  door — Tafi^y's 

footfall;   then  a  click  of  a  latch  and  Humility's 

voice  saying,  "  There's  a  visitor  inside;   come  to 

take  tea  with  you." 

358 


THE    SHIP   OF   STARS 

"  A  visitor?  "  He  was  standing  in  the  door- 
way.    "  You  ?  "     He  blushed  in  his  surprise. 

Honoria  rose.  "  If  I  may,"  she  said,  and 
wondered  if  she  might  hold  out  a  hand. 

But  he  held  out  his,  quite  frankly,  and 
laughed.  "  Why,  of  course.  They  will  be 
lighting  up  in  half  an  hour.  We  must  make 
haste." 

Once  or  twice  during  tea  he  stole  a  glance 
from  Honoria  to  his  mother;  and  each  time 
fondly  believed  that  it  passed  undetected.  His 
talk  was  all  about  the  light-house  and  the  prep- 
arations there,  and  he  rattled  on  in  the  highest 
spirits.  Two  of  the  women  knew,  and  the  third 
guessed,  that  this  chatter  was  with  him  un- 
wonted. 

At  length  he,  too,  seemed  to  be  struck  by  this. 
"  But  what  nonsense  I'm  talking!  "  he  protested, 
breaking  off  midway  in  a  sentence  and  blushing 
again.  "  I  can't  help  it,  though.  I'm  feeling 
just  as  big  as  the  light-house  to-night,  with  my 
head  wound  up  and  turning  round  like  the  lan- 
tern! " 

"  And  your  wit  occulting,"  suggested  Hon- 
oria, in  her  old  light  manner.     "  What  is  it? — 

three  flashes  to  the  minute?  " 

359 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

He  laughed  and  hurried  them  from  the  tea- 
table.  Mrs.  Venning  bade  them  a  merry  good- 
by  as  they  took  leave  of  her. 

"  Come  along,  mother." 

But  Humility  had  changed  her  mind.  "  ISTo," 
said  she.  "  I'll  wait  in  the  doorway.  I  can  just 
see  the  lantern  from  the  garden  gate,  you  know. 
You  two  can  wait  by  the  old  light-house,  and  call 
to  me  when  the  time  comes." 

She  watched  them  from  the  doorway  as  they 
took  the  path  toward  the  cliff,  toward  the  last 
ray  of  sunset  fading  across  the  dusk  of  the  sea. 
The  evening  was  warm  and  she  sat  bareheaded 
with  her  lace-work  on  her  knee;  but  presently 
she  put  it  down. 

"  I  must  be  taking  to  spectacles  soon,"  she  said 
to  herself.  "  My  eyes  are  not  what  they  used  to 
be." 

Taffy  and  Honoria  reached  the  old  light-house 
and  halted  by  its  white-painted  railing.  Below 
them  the  new  pillar  stood  up  in  full  view,  young 
and  defiant.  A  full  tide  lapped  its  base,  feeling 
this  comely  and  untried  adversary  as  a  wrestler 
shakes  hands  before  engaging.  And  from  its 
base  the  column,  after  a  gentle  inward  curve — 

360 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

enough  to  give  it  a  look  of  lissomeness  and  elastic 
strength — sprang  upright  straight  and  firm  to 
the  lantern,  ringed  with  a  gallery  and  capped 
with  a  cupola  of  copper  not  yet  greened  by  the 
weather;  in  outline  as  simple  as  a  flower,  in 
structure  to  the  understanding  eye  almost  as  sub- 
tly organized,  adapted,  and  pieced  into  growth. 

"So  that  is  your  ambition  now?"  said  Ho- 
noria,  after  gazing  long.  She  added,  "  I  do  not 
wonder." 

"  It  does  not  stop  there,  I'm  afraid."  There 
was  a  pause,  as  though  her  words  had  thrown 
him  into  a  brown  study. 

"Look!"  she  cried.  "There  is  someone  in 
the  lantern — with  a  light  in  his  hand.  He  is 
lighting  up !  " 

Taffy  ran  back  a  pace  or  two  toward  the  cot- 
tage and  shouted,  waving  his  hand.  In  a  mo- 
ment Humility  appeared  at  the  gate  and  waved 
in  answer,  while  tlie  strong  light  flashed  seaward. 
They  listened;  but  if  she  called,  the  waves  at 
their  feet  drowned  her  voice. 

They  turned  and  gazed  at  the  light,  counting, 
timing  the  flashes;  two  short  flashes  with  but  five 
seconds  between,  then  darkness  for  twenty  sec- 
onds, and  after  it  a  long,  steady  stare. 

361 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

Abruptly  he  asked,  "  Would  you  care  to  cross 
over  and  see  the  lantern?  " 

"What,  in  the  cradle?" 

"  I  can  work  it  easily.  It's  not  dangerous  in 
the  least;   a  bit  daunting  perhaps." 

"  But  I'm  not  easily  frightened,  you  know. 
Yes,  I  should  like  it  greatly." 

They  descended  the  cliff  to  the  cable.  The 
iron  cradle  stood  ready  as  Taffy  had  left  it  when 
he  came  ashore.  She  stepped  in  lightly,  scarcely 
touching  for  a  second  the  hand  he  put  out  to 
guide  her. 

"  Better  sit  low,"  he  advised ;  and  she  obeyed, 
disposing  her  skirts  on  the  floor,  caked  with  dry 
mud  from  the  workmen's  boots.  He  followed 
her  and  launched  the  cradle  over  the  deep  twi- 
light. 

A  faint  breeze — there  had  been  none  percep- 
tible on  the  ridge — played  off  the  face  of  the 
cliffs.  The  forward  swing  of  the  cradle,  too, 
raised  a  slight  draught  of  air.  Honoria  plucked 
off  her  hat  and  veil  and  let  it  fan  her  temples. 

Half-way  across  she  said,  "  Isn't  it  like  this — 
in  mid-air  over  running  water — that  the  witches 
take  their  oaths? " 

Taffy    ceased    pulling    on    the    rope.     "  The 


THE    SUIV    OF    STAES 

witches?     Yes,  I  remember  something  of  the 
sort. 

"  And  a  word  spoken  so  is  an  oath  and  hists 
forever.  \'erv  well;  answer  me  what  I  came 
to  ask  vou  tcMiiirht." 

"  What  is  that?"     But  he  knew. 

''  That  when  vou  know — when  I  tell  vou  I 
was  deceived  .  .  .  you  will  forgive."  Her 
voice  was  scarcely  audible. 

'•  1  torglvc/' 

'*  Ah.  but  freelv?  It  is  onlv  a  word  I  want; 
but  it  has  to  last  me  like  au  oath." 

"  1  forgive  you  freely.  It.  was  all  a  mis- 
take." 

*'  And  vou  have  found  other  ambitions  ?  And 
thev  satisf V  vou  (  " 

He  laughed  and  pulled  at  the  rope  again. 
**  They  ought  to."  he  answered,  gayly,  '*  they're 
bio-  enouiih.     Come  and  see." 

The  seaward  end  of  the  cable  was  attached  to 
a  doorwav  thirtv  feet  above  the  base  of  the  liirht- 
house.  One  of  the  undei'-keepei's  met  them 
here  with  a  lantern.  lie  staivd  when  he  caught 
sight  of  the  second  tigure  in  the  cradle,  but 
touched  Ins  cap  to  the  mistrcs^s  of  Oiinvithiel. 

363 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

"  Here's  Mrs.  Vyell,  Trevartlien,  come  to  do 
honor  to  our  opening  night." 

"  Proudly  welcome,  ma'am,"  said  Trevar- 
then.  "  You'll  excuse  the  litter  we're  in.  This 
here's  our  cellar,  but  you'll  find  things  more 
ship-shape  upstairs.  Mind  your  head,  ma'am, 
with  the  archway — better  let  me  lead  the  way 
perhaps." 

The  archway  was  indeed  low,  and  they  were 
forced  to  crouch  and  almost  crawl  up  the  first 
short  flight  of  steps.  But  after  this,  Honoria 
following  Trevarthen's  lantern  round  and  up 
the  spiral  way  found  the  roof  heightening  above 
her,  and  soon  emerged  into  a  gloomy  chamber 
fitted  with  cupboards  and  water-tanks — the  pro- 
vision-room. From  this  a  ladder  led  straight  up 
through  a  man-hole  in  the  ceiling  to  the  light- 
room  store,  set  round  with  shining  oil-tanks  and 
stocked  with  paint-pots,  brushes,  buckets,  cans, 
signalling  flags,  coils  of  rope,  bags  of  cotton- 
waste,  tool-chests.  ...  A  second  ladder 
brought  them  to  the  kitchen,  and  a  third  to  the 
sleeping-room;  and  here  the  light  of  the  lantern 
streamed  down  on  their  heads  through  the  open 
man-hole  above  them.  They  heard,  too,  the  roar 
of  the  ventilator,  and  the  ting-ting,  regular  and 

3G4 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

sharp,  of  the  small  bell  reporting  that  the  ma- 
chinery revolved. 

Above,  in  the  blaze  of  the  great  lenses,  old 
Pezzack  and  the  second  under-keeper  welcomed 
them.  The  pair  had  been  watching  and  dis- 
cussing the  light  with  true  professional  pride; 
and  Taffy  drew  up  at  the  head  of  the  ladder  and 
stared  at  it  and  nodded  his  slow  approbation. 
The  glare  forced  Honoria  back  against  the  glass 
wall,  and  she  caught  at  its  lattice  for  support. 

But  she  pulled  herself  together,  ashamed  of 
her  weakness  and  glad  that  Taffy  had  not  per- 
ceived it. 

"  This  satisfies  you  ?  "  she  whispered. 

He  faced  round  on  her  with  a  slow  smile. 
"  No,"  he  said,  "  this  light-house  is  useless." 

"Useless?" 

"  You  remember  the  wreck — that  wreck — • 
the  Samaritan?  She  came  ashore  beneath  the 
light-house  here;  right  beneath  our  feet;  by  no 
fault  or  carelessness.  A  light-house  on  a  coast 
like  this — a  coast  without  a  harbor — is  a  joke  set 
in  a  death-trap,  to  make  game  of  dying  men." 

"  But  since  the  coast  has  no  harbor " 

"  I  would  build  one.     Look  at  this."     He 

pulled  a  pencil  and  paper  from  his  pocket  and 

365 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

rapidly  sketched  the  outlines  of  the  Bristol 
Channel.  "  What  is  that?  A  bag.  Suppose 
a  vessel  taken  in  the  mouth  of  it;  a  bag  with 
death  along  the  narrowing  sides  and  death  wait- 
ing at  the  end — no  deep-water  harbor — no 
chance  anywhere.  And  the  tides!  You  know 
the  rhyme — 

•  From  Padstow  Point  to  Lundy  Light 
Is  a  watery  grave  by  day  or  night. ' 

Yes,  there's  Lundy  " — he  jotted  down  the  posi- 
tion of  the  island — "  hit  off  the  lee  of  Lundy, 
if  you  can,  and  drop  hook,  and  pray  God  it 
holds!  " 

"  But  this  harbor?     What  would  it  cost?  " 

"  I  dare  say  a  million  of  money ;  perhaps  more. 
But  I  work  it  out  at  less — at  Porthquin,  for  in- 
stance, or  Lundy  itself,  or  even  at  St.  Ives." 

"  A  million!"  she  laughed.  "  Now  I  see  the 
boy  I  used  to  know — the  boy  of  dreams." 

He  turned  on  her  gravely.  She  was  exceed- 
ingly beautiful,  standing  there,  in  her  black 
habit,  bareheaded  in  the  glare  of  the  lenses, 
standing  with  head  thrown  back,  with  eyes  chal- 
lenging  the   past,  and  a  faint   glow   on   either 

cheek.     But  he  had  no  eyes  for  her  beauty. 

366 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

He  opened  liis  lips  to  speak.  Yes,  he  could 
overwhelm  her  with  statistics  and  figures,  all 
worked  out,  of  shipping  and  disasters  to  ship- 
ping; of  wealth  and  senseless  waste  of  wealth. 
He  could  bury  her  beneath  evidence  taken  by 
Royal  Commission  and  Parliamentary  Commit- 
tee, commissioners'  reports,  testimony  of  ship- 
owners and  captains;  calculated  tables  of  tides, 
set  of  currents,  prevailing  winds;  results  of  sur- 
veys hydrographical,  geological,  geographical; 
all  the  mass  of  facts  he  had  been  accumulating 
and  brooding  over  for  eighteen  long  months. 
But  the  weight  of  it  closed  his  lips,  and  when  he 
opened  them  again  it  was  to  say,  "  Yes,  that  is 
my  dream." 

At  once  he  turned  his  talk  upon  the  light  re- 
volving in  their  faces;  began  to  explain  the 
lenses  and  their  working  in  short,  direct  sen- 
tences. She  heard  his  voice  but  without  follow- 
ing. 

Pezzack  and  the  under-keeper  had  drawn 
apart  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  cage  and  were 
talking  together.  The  lantern  hid  them,  but 
she  caught  the  murmur  of  their  voices  now  and 
again.  She  was  conscious  of  having  let  some- 
thing slip — slip  away  from  her — forever.    If  she 

367 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

could  but  recall  him,  and  hold  him  to  his  dream ! 
But  this  man,  talking  in  short  sentences,  each 
one  so  sharp  and  clear,  was  not  the  Taffy  she  had 
known  or  could  ever  know. 

In  the  blaze  of  the  lenses  suddenly  she  saw 
the  truth.  He  and  she  had  changed  places. 
She  who  had  used  to  be  so  practical — she  was 
the  dreamer  now;  had  come  thither  following  a 
dream,  walking  in  a  dream.  He,  the  dreaming 
boy,  had  become  the  practical  man,  firm,  clear- 
sighted, direct  of  purpose;  with  a  dream  yet  in 
his  heart,  but  a  dream  of  great  action,  a  dream 
he  hid  from  her,  certainly  a  dream  in  which  she 
had  neither  part  nor  lot.  And  yet  she  had  made 
him  what  he  was;  not  willingly,  not  by  kindness, 
but  by  injustice.  What  she  had  given  he  had 
taken;  and  was  a  stranger  to  her. 

IMuifled  wings  and  white  breads  began  to  beat 
against  the  glass.  A  low-lying  haze — a  passing 
stratum  of  sea-fog — had  wrapped  the  light-house 
for  a  while,  and  these  were  the  wings  and  breasts 
of  sea-birds  attracted  by  the  light.  To  her  they 
were  the  ghosts  of  dead  thoughts  —  stifled 
thoughts — thoughts  which  had  never  come  to 
birth — trying  to  force  their  way  into  the  ring  of 
light  encompassing  and  enwrapping  her;    try- 

368 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

ing  desperately,  but  foiled  by  tbe  transparent 
screen. 

Still  sbe  beard  bis  voice,  level  and  masterful, 
sure  of  bis  subject.  In  tbe  middle  of  one  of  bis 
sentences  a  sliarp  tbud  sounded  on  tbe  pane  be- 
bind  ber,  as  sudden  as  tbe  crack  of  a  pebble  and 
only  a  little  duller. 

"  Ab,  wbat  is  tbat?"  sbe  cried,  and  toucbed 
bis  arm. 

He  tbrust  open  one  of  tbe  windows,  stepped 
out  upon  tbe  gallery,  and  returned  in  less  tban  a 
minute  witb  a  small  dead  bird  in  bis  band. 

"  A  swallow,"  be  said.  "  Tbey  bave  been 
preparing  to  fly  for  days.  Summer  is  done, 
witb  our  vvork  bere." 

Sbe  sbivered.     "  Let  us  go  back,"  sbe  said. 

Tbey  descended  tbe  ladders.  Trevartben 
met  tbem  in  tbe  kitcben  and  went  before  tbem 
witb  bis  lantern.  In  a  minute  tbey  were  in  tbe 
cradle  again  and  swinging  toward  tbe  cliff.  Tbe 
wisp  of  sea-fog  bad  drifted  past  tbe  light-bouse  to 
leeward,  and  all  was  clear  again.  Higb  over  tbe 
cupola  Cassiopeia  leaned  toward  tbe  pole,  ber 
breast  flashing  its  eternal  badge  —  tbe  star- 
pointed  W.  Low  in  tbe  nortb,  tied — as  tbe 
country  tale  went — to  follow  ber  motions,  eter- 

369 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

nally  separate,  eternally  true  to  the  fixed  star  of 
her  gaze,  the  Wagoner  tilted  his  wheels  and 
drove  them  close  along  and  above  the  misty  sea. 

Taffy,  pulling  on  the  rope,  looked  down  upon 
Honoria's  upturned  face  and  saw  the  glimmer  of 
starlight  in  her  eyes;  but  neither  guessed  her 
thoughts  nor  tried  to. 

It  was  only  when  they  stood  together  on  the 
cliff-side  that  she  broke  the  silence.  "  Look," 
she  said,  and  pointed  upward.  "  Does  that  re- 
mind you  of  anything?  " 

He  searched  his  memory.  "  No,"  he  con- 
fessed; "  that  is,  if  you  mean  Cassiopeia  up  yon- 
der." 

"  Think!— the  Ship  of  Stars." 

"  The  Ship  of  Stars  ? — Yes,  I  remember  now. 
There  was  a  young  sailor — with  a  ship  of  stars 
tattooed  on  his  chest.  He  was  drowned  on  this 
very  coast." 

"  Was  that  a  part  of  the  story  you  were  to  tell 
me?" 

"  What  story?     I  don't  understand," 

"  Don't  you  remember  that  day — the  morn- 
ing when  we  began  lessons  together?  You  ex- 
plained the  alphabet  to  me,  and  when  we  came 
to  W  you   said  it  was  a  ship — a  ship  of  stars. 


THE    SHIP    OF    STxVRS 

There  was  a  story  about  it,  you  said,  and  prom- 
ised to  tell  me  some  day." 

He  laughed.  "  What  queer  things  you  re- 
member! " 

"  But  what  was  the  story?  " 

"  I  wonder?  If  I  ever  knew,  I've  forgotten. 
I  dare  say  I  had  something  in  my  head.  oSTow  I 
think  of  it,  I  was  always  making  up  some  foolish 
tale  or  other  in  those  days." 

Yes;  he  had  forgotten.  "  I  have  often  tried 
to  make  up  a  story  about  that  ship,"  she  said, 
gravely ;  "  out  of  odds  and  ends  of  the  stories  you 
used  to  tell.  I  don't  think  I  ever  had  the  gift 
to  invent  anything  on  my  own  account.  But  at 
last,  after  a  long  while " 

"  The  story  took  shape?  Tell  it  to  me, 
please." 

She  hesitated   and  broke  into  a  bitter  little 

laugh,     "  No,"  said  she,  "  you  never  told  me 

yours."     Again  it  came  to  her  with  a  pang  that 

he  and  she  had  changed  places.     He  had  taken 

her  forthrightness  and  left  her,  in  exchange,  his 

dreams.     They  were  hers  now,  the  gayly  colored 

childish  fancies,  and    she    must   take    her   way 

among  them  alone.     Dreams  only!  but  just  as  a 

while  back  he  had  started  to  confess  his  dream 

371 


THE    SHIP    OF    STARS 

and  had  broken  down  before  her,  so  now  in  turn 
she  knew  that  her  tongue  was  held. 

Humility  rose  as  they  entered  the  kitchen  to- 
gether. A  glance  as  Honoria  held  out  her  hand 
for  good-by,  told  her  all  she  needed  to  know. 

"  And  you  are  leaving  in  a  day  or  two?  "  Hon- 
oria asked. 

"  Thursday  next  is  the  day  fixed." 

"  You  are  very  brave." 

Again  the  two  women's  eyes  met,  and  this 
time  the  younger  understood.  Whither  thou 
goest,  I  will  go;  and  where  thou  lodgest  I  will 
lodge;  thy  people  shall  he  my  people,  and  thy  God 
my  God — that  which  the  Moabitess  said  for  a 
woman's  sake,  women  are  saying  for  men's  sake 
by  thousands  every  day. 

Still  holding  her  hand.  Humility  drew  Hon- 
oria close.  "  God  deal  kindly  with  you,  my 
dear,"  she  whispered,  and  kissed  her. 

At  the  gate  Honoria  blew  a  whistle,  and  after 
a  few  seconds  Aide-de-camp  came  obediently  out 
of  the  darkness  to  be  bridled.     This  done,  Taffy 
lent  his  hand  and  swung  her  into  the  saddle. 
"  Good-night  and  good-by !  " 

372 


THE    SHIP    OF    STAES 

Taffy  was  the  first  to  turn  back  from  the  gate. 
The  beat  of  Aide-de-camp's  hoofs  reminded  him 
of  something — some  music  he  had  once  heard; 
he  could  not  remember  where. 

Humility  lingered  a  moment  longer,  and  fol- 
lowed to  prepare  her  son's  supper. 

But  Honoria,  fleeing  along  the  ridge,  hugged 
one  fierce  thought  in  her  defeat.  The  warm 
wind  sang  by  her  ears,  the  rhythm  of  Aide-de- 
camp's  canter  thudded  upon  her  brain;  but  her 
heart  cried  back  on  them  and  louder  than  either : 

"  He  is  mine — mine — mine !  He  is  mine, 
and  always  will  be.  He  is  lost  to  me,  but  I  pos- 
sess him.  For  what  he  is,  I  have  made  him,  and 
at  my  cost  he  is  strong." 


373 


A  New  Novel  by   "Q" 

The  Ship  of  Stars 

By  ARTHUR  T.  QUILLER-COUCH 
With  Frontispiece.      i2mo,  ^1.50 

A  LOVE  story  of  the  Cornwall 
coast,  full  of  beautiful  and 
tender  color — the  sea,  old  houses, 
old  families,  quaint  characters,  and 
strange,  stirring  happenings — with 
a  bit  of  Oxford  life.  Beginning 
with  the  hero's  odd  boy-life,  with 
its  dreams  and  adventures  and 
its  whimsical  sweetness,  the  later 
chapters  rise  to  a  high  key  of  ad- 
venture and  action. 


"  Mr.  Qiiiller-Co7tch  excels  in  the  simple  telling  of 
'plain  tales '  —  not  from  the  hills  but  from  the  plains  them- 
selves. His  dramatic  power  ts  such  that  he  scarcely 
requires  the  artificial  aid  of  the  lime-light  and  the  trap- 
door.    He  has  a  touch  of  George  Eliot's  great  power." 

— Pall  Mall  Gazette. 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,    Publishers 
New  York 


Uniform  Series  of  Novels  and 
Stories  by  '' QJ' 


Nitie  Volumes 
Each,  i2mo,  $i.2j 


The  Splendid  Spur  The  Blue  Pavilions 

The  Delectable  Duchy  Troy  Town 

Wandering  Heath  Dead  Man's  Rock 

I  Saw  Three  Ships  Noughts  and  Crosses 

Adventures  in  Criticism 


A  RTHUR  T.  QUILLER-COUCH  was 
'^^  chosen  from  among  all  the  writers  of  the 
day  as  best  fitted  to  conclude  ♦*  St.  Ives,"  the 
late  Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  unfinished  romance. 
That  fact  gives  some  idea  of  how  he  is  regarded  by 
the  foremost  literary  men  of  his  time.  But  not- 
withstanding this,  and  notwithstanding  his  great 
reputation  in  England,  where  he  is  as  widely  read 
by  the  public  as  he  is  highly  praised  by  critics  and 
fellow-craftsmen — especially  by  his  early  and  dis- 
cerning admirer,  J.  M.  Barrie — there  are  many 
lovers  of  good  books  in  this  country  who  have  yet 
to  realize  the  full  literary  importance  of  this  vigor- 
ous Cornishman.  He  has  done  for  the  rugged 
west  coast  of  England  and  its  quaint  characters  and 
romantic  history  what  Thomas  Nelson  Page  has 
done  for  Virginia  and  Miss  Mary  E.  Wilkins  for 
New  England.  He  has  made  for  himself  an  en- 
viable  reputation    as  the  writer  of  "crisp,  strong 


stories  in  which  no  fog,  moral  or  physical,  finds 
any  shelter";  and  the  uniform  excellence  and 
interest  of  his  tales,  the  compression  and  the  care 
for  the  story  as  the  first  consideration,  have  made 
any  book  with  his  now  familiar  iiom  de  plume 
on  the  title  page  "sure  of  a  hearty  welcome." 
These  nine  volumes,  therefore,  comprise  the  first 
definitive  and  uniform  edition  of  the  works  of  a 
writer  who  has  won  his  place  "  among  the  most 
imaginative  and  poetic  of  the  later  English  novelists," 
and  whose  romances  invariably  have  a  quality  and 
a  flavor  impossible  to  duplicate. 

"He  is  highly  esteemed  as  among  the  most 
imaginative  and  poetic  of  the  later  English  nov- 
elists."— Philadelphia  Public  Ledger. 


la :   A  Love  Story 

PUBLISHED    ONLY    IN    THE    IVORY    SERIES 

i6mo,  75  cents 

"  At  first  acquaintance  *  la  '  suggests,  bv  her 
splendid  animal  freedom,  one  of  Hardy's  heroines  ; 
but  the  development  of  her  character  exalts  her 
into  a  noble  type  of  womanly  sacrifice  and  devo- 
tion. ' '  — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  A  very  strong  story  of  very  strong  womanly 
love.  A  wholesome,  vigorous,  and  altogether  de- 
lightful love  story." — Boston  Journal. 

*'  No  story  was  ever  more  fearlessly  and  more 
thoughtfully  aimed  at  the  very  heart  of  life." 

—  The  Bookman. 


Some  Critical  Opinions  of  "Q's"  Books 


"  No  one  else  writes  of  Cornwall  and  its 
people  with  the  knowledge  and  skill  of  Mr.  Quiller- 
Couch. ' ' — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  Mr.  Quiller-Couch  has  qualities  that  render 
him  incapable  of  producing  a  dull,  trivial  or  un- 
wholesome book." — Boston  Beacon. 

"Of  all  the  short-story  writers  we  are  inclined, 
in  many  respects,  to  give  Mr.  A.  T.  Quiller-Couch 
the  first  position." — IVew  Yo?-k  Times. 

"The  various  tales  suggest  Mr.  Kipling's 
stories,  but  are  free  from  any  imitation  ot  them  ;  in 
pathos,  strength,  and  simplicity  of  style  they  are  far 
superior." — Literary  World. 

"  He  has  a  clear,  rapid,  manly  style,  an  inex- 
haustible fund  of  incident,  and  the  capital  and 
indispensable  knack  of  making  his  people  interest- 
ing." — The  Critic. 

"  He  is  a  realist,  in  the  sense  of  being  a  close 
observer  of  the  human  document.  He  has  none  o^ 
the  pessimistic  or  cynical  tendencies  of  the  age  ; 
rather,  he  seems  to  find  that  *  somehow  the  light  of 
every  soul  burns  upwards,'  even  in  such  an  abject 
specimen  of  humanity  as  *  These-and-That,'  the 
subject  of  one  of  his  *  Noughts  and  Crosses. '  It  is 
well  that  this  kind  of  realism  should  not  go  without 
its  artistic  expression  in  literature,  and  in  recent 
years  it  has  found  no  such  powerful  exponent  as  in 
the  author  of  'The  Delectable  Duchy.'  " 

—  The  Bookman. 

CHARLES    SCRIBNER'S    SONS,    Publishers 

153-157   Fifth   Avenue,    New  York 


/.///^ 


r 


^""^  c 


i  'O"  J    '    (    •    ^       J    ' 


-.J3AINft]WV 


:§ 


